


The Viper

by Whatifweweredogs



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Disturbing Themes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, LGBTQ Themes, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Hunger Games, Quarter Quell (Hunger Games), Sad, Slow Build, Slow Burn, THIS BAD BABY IS A LONG ONE, finnick odair is a good bro, im a slut for sea green eyes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24182512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatifweweredogs/pseuds/Whatifweweredogs
Summary: District 10's female tribute is Sable Tause. Even at fifteen years old, she's determined to win the 68th Hunger Games — no matter the cost. Instructed to 'play her part' for sponsors, which means survival, she quickly learns that victors never leave the arena (not really) and she'll have to continue playing her part for the rest of her life. Nicknamed the Viper by her fans in the Capitol, Sable must navigate a new game filled with whispers and secrets of horrible, horrible things. Except, its not just her in this game. She's forced to protect everyone she loves, alongside her brother's murderer from the most dangerous man in all of Panem.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Finnick Odair & Other(s), Finnick Odair/Original Character(s), Finnick Odair/Original Female Character(s), Johanna Mason & Original Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 66





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Since quarantine has begun, I've found myself loving the Hunger Games (and Finnick Odair) with renewed vigor. Enjoy!

the games

**_selection_ **

_ se·lec·tion _

/səˈlekSH(ə)n/

Biology

_ noun  _

  1. the action or fact of carefully choosing someone or something as being the best or most suitable.



**_reap_ **

/rēp/

_ verb _

gerund or present participle:  **reaping**

  1. cut or gather (a crop or harvest).  
harvest the crop from (a piece of land).
  2. receive (a reward or benefit) as a consequence of one's own or other people's actions.



**_slaughter_ **

slaugh·ter

/ˈslôdər/

_ verb _

  1. kill (animals) for food.
  2. kill (people or animals) in a cruel or violent way, typically in large numbers.




	2. 1.

**I could not hate hogs any more than I did right now.** Flat on my back, staring up at the steadily-lightning sky, the grunting little creatures nudge me in the back for more scraps to drop. I lift a hand to inspect, finding it covered in mud (and other things), and fling it down with a groan.

  
This only serves to splash more filth onto my face. 

“You’re gonna have to wash that mane of yours for once.” A girl laughs from my left, and I turn my head with a glare. Crinkled eyes meet mine, twinkling with amusement, and I can’t help but break into a laugh. Of course Brey is out and about, even after I told her to sleep in past her chore time.

“Help me up?” I hold out a hand, and Brey crouches through the fence to take it. I pull her down into the pigsty with her, giggling like mad at the expression of horror on her face. 

“I hate you!” Her cry would have been more convincing had she not been covered in pig shit, and she laughs with me, quieting down after a minute. “I already bathed, you rat.”

“You always smell like roses.” My eyes meet hers, the smile I reserve only for her on my face. It’s lost though, because Brey turns back to face the sky, her joy fading into an all-too-familiar melancholy. “Don’t even-”

“It’s Reaping Day.” Brey grabs my hand, running a thumb over my palm like she was trying to memorize all the callouses on it. An impossible task, because it seems new ones pop up every day. “And your name is in that damned glass bowl too many times.”

“Twenty-four, Brey.” I sigh, still staring at the girl working very hard not to turn back towards me. “That’s hardly anything.”

“You shouldn’t have applied for Tesserae.” Brey gets up, extending a hand once more to me, and I know better than to pull any tricks again. She pulls her hand away, grabbing the other bucket of slop and dumping it over with a grunt. The hogs grunts become frenzied again, and we begin walking towards the fence. “Especially not for me. I can fend for myself.”

She’s right. I’m adding to my impending doom each time I sign up for those stupid grain and oil rations. Our family could live without the grain and oil the Capitol provides, but we would have to break more horses than we already do, and my father already struggles from falling so often. Brey hasn’t been pre-Selected in her life, but applying for Tesserae would change that, and I would do anything to keep Brey’s name out of that glass bowl. 

Tesserae is not a question for me.

“I won’t let you apply, you know that.” While Brey is short enough to climb through the middle of the planks, I have to clamber over, leaving mud caked on the wooden boards. “And what kind of friend would I be to let you starve?”

They say that when Brey was six, her mother died of a broken heart when her father left them. By the time anyone thought to check on them, Brey had gone hoarse from crying, on the brink of death from dehydration. They say Brey was in such shock that her body just shut down, she couldn’t move — even despite her own survival. 

Her aunt’s family tried to take care of her, but they were so destitute it was hard to have another mouth to feed. My family was fortunate enough to have enough money to spare at the time, and we started having Brey over for whatever meals we could spare.

Then my brother was reaped at eighteen, and I learned why we could afford to eat - his name was in the bowl at least 35 times. 

I applied for tesserae as soon as I was twelve, and between my sister and I, we could keep our family running. Not quite comfortable, but alive. I took some of the burden off of her last few years, when she was most likely to be Reaped, and she helped me from not having to apply for so many my first few years. 

Lulee turned nineteen last year though, and I became the sole applicant. She got married and just had a baby though, which has added more slips of paper into that bowl. 

“What kind of girlfriend would I be if I was the reason you were reaped? Besides, I could be pre-Selected any year no matter what.” Her voice breaks, and I wrap my arms around her quickly. 

“You’re sixteen and your name has never been entered once.” 

“That could change.”

“But it won’t.” 

District 10 and most of the larger Districts have a pre-Selection to pick who’s going to be in the Reaping so the roped off areas in the District Centre can hold all the kids. 

The Capitol says it’s completely random, but practically everyone selected is able-bodied and has applied for Tesserae. I have been Selected every year, as had my sister before me. My brother was selected every year too. 

Of course, there are always a few of the upper-class kids sprinkled in, their skin paler than most because they can stay inside more than us, but they’re slim pickings.

Brey, as long as she doesn’t apply for rations behind my back, is about as safe as they come since she doesn’t apply for any tesserae..

But I do.

“Don’t even think that I would die if I entered.” My voice is low, confident, any trace of my mischief from earlier gone. “I would herd them all like sheep if I needed to, and then I would shower you with attention and you’d sing for the Capitol and make millions of dollars.”

Brey wouldn’t last for a minute in the arena, but that girl could sing like nobody else in Panem. I like to think that if anyone from the Capitol met her, they would bring her to the recording studio immediately and her music would play all over the country.

Having enough of the smell, we continue to the road. Brey regains her composure as I swing myself onto a dust-coloured mare named Mayble, clicking my tongue and trotting away. 

All I can think to yell before the wind will take my words away completely is: “wear something pretty!”

Brey doesn’t reply, but that’s not a surprise. There are only so many words to say the morning of the Reaping, after all.

* * *

I stand with the other fifteen year-old girls **.** I’m vaguely aware of the video droning on, the prick in my finger fading quickly from my mind as I feel water dripping down my back, turning my light brown blouse the colour of mud.   
  


Mane of hair it is. Thick, straight, and often tangled from the wind, the long dark mass is currently pulled into a ponytail the length of my back. It never dries quickly, which is why I avoid washing it, but I couldn’t very well show up to the Reaping with it stiff from mud. Showing up with wet hair has earned me some looks anyway from my fellow classmates, and I frown at the thought. I bet the other districts think of us as idiotic farmhands.

Some of the girls around me have cleaned up well. They’re the ones who have to travel on wagons to get to the Centre, who get to stay in Capitol-provided inn’s for two nights, the night before and the night after the Reaping. They’re lucky, because I’ve heard the inn’s have cold water to drink and nice smelling soap.

My friend Niyu grins at me from across the aisle, mimicking the stupid video. I grin back, and he rolls his eyes. 

The sound of feedback makes everyone cringe as Ovid Martell, District 10’s Escort, taps the microphone, smiling brightly. His coloured teeth remind me of candy, and his hair is blindingly white. I think he resembles a clown. “Hello, District Ten. Welcome to the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games!” 

Everyone stays silent, but that doesn’t dim his smile in the least. If anything, it becomes wider than before. He continues to talk, saying silly nonsense that nobody believes — how it’s an ‘honor’ and a ‘privilege’ to represent our district in a chance to win glory — because everyone knows we’re _really_ going to represent how easily a body fails, how red blood runs, and how quickly life is snuffed. 

I look back at the adults, a sea of dark hair and dark eyes staring ahead with hatred, but the fight had gone out of them long ago. Brey is somewhere in there with my parents, but I turn around before anyone notices I’m not paying attention to our District’s Escort. Not that anyone besides the Peacekeepers, dressed in trademark white, would care.

Our District has a common resentment for the Capitol. Being beaten and starved and forced to take care of livestock until the slaughterhouse came has made us all reflect on how we’re little more than pigs and goats and sheep waiting for the butcher's knife to come down. 

“I think we’ll start with the gentlemen!” Ovid likes to switch up the order he draws us, but it’s not nearly as exciting as he thinks. I’m sure the Capitol gets a kick out of it, though.

“And the male tribute joining us is…” Ovid makes a show out of this, and there is silence again, broken only by the lowing of cows and the baa-ing of sheep. “Niyu Enscombe!”

The heartbreaking yell only a father can make echoes through the crowd, and I closes my eyes at what this means.

Niyu’s mother died in labor with him. His brother disappeared after a freak accident at the slaughterhouse. And now Niyu’s father could lose another son. 

He really didn’t even have that many entries. Tesserae for him and his father would only bring him to 8 slips, but I suppose the odds don’t discriminate. 

I wonder if it’s because he mocks the Capitol so often. He takes after his brother in that regard: their whole family has always been a little outspoken in their opinions. 

I wonder if that’s why his brother disappeared. I wonder how fixed these Reapings actually are, if they deliver death warrants when needed.

Niyu is smart, strong, and he’s a quick learner. He’s good with a knife, having worked in meat packaging most of his life, but what is that against a Career trained with a sword since they could walk?

His father begins weeping loudly, the sound grating my heart into shreds. Perhaps I’ll apply for Tesserae for one more person. I stare at Niyu as Ovid pesters him with questions, but he is staring off into the distance with a stoic face. Then Ovid moves towards the girl’s bowl. 

The world goes silent. I feel bad for whoever this girl will be. I hope she is easily killed so that Niyu won’t have to face her. I hope the other tributes drawn are weak too. I hope Niyu makes it home.

I watch as if my world is on mute, and Ovid twirls his hand in the bowl where there are 24 slips of paper sporting my name. The silence is deafening, but as Ovid announces the lucky girl who will join him onstage, I realize my hearing was fine after all, and the world was just holding its breath. 

“Sable Tause!” Ovid claps brightly, the paper being beaten over and over in his palm, and I vaguely register a chorus of wails starting up. 

Mother. 

Father.

Brey.

Brey.

_Brey_.

I look back wildly for her as the Peacekeepers drag me up, trying to find the girl with the most _beautiful_ voice and _saddest_ eyes in the world, the girl that (even at fifteen) I knew would be with me the rest of my life. But when I find her, I instantly regret it. 

Brey has crumpled, and my father is trying to hold her up, but all of her energy is focused on me. We hold eye contact the entire walk up to the stage, but eventually I can’t turn my neck enough and I have to look away.

When I climb up the stairs, Niyu is still staring over the crowd blankly, so my eyes lock onto Davi Sambu. My brother-in-law is supporting my mother, who has gone catonic. 

I don't look away from him, even as Ovid asks for my name and I say it into the microphone, numbly thinking about how he _just_ announced it _seconds_ ago but the Capitol just wants to hear me accept my fate. 

“And how old are you dear?”

“Fifteen.” My voice is strong and clear which is an effort because I really would rather claw my throat out than answer his stupid questions.  
  


“Let’s hear it for Sable Tause!” He claps again, and I keep staring at Lulee’s husband, who nods solemnly as my mother cries in his arms, because if I don’t stare at his stoic face I’ll look back to Brey. Brey, who is _howling_ in agony and everyone can hear it, and seeing that agony would break me into a million pieces. And I can’t be broken, because I _have to win these Games_ and I can’t do that without being strong. So I stare into eyes that mirror my own, dark with grief and wild terror, but completely devoid of tears. 

“Let’s hear it for District Ten! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”

Niyu and I stare straight ahead as there is reluctant clapping from our District.

I have to return home. I _must_.

But at the expense of my best friend? Against 23 other kids, some trained to kill since they could walk? In an arena commanded by the bloodthirsty elite?

The odds are not in my favor.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Find my boards that inspire each character at https://www.pinterest.com/Whatifweweredogs/boards/
> 
> Leave a review and a kudos ;)
> 
> Bookmark to stay updated!


	3. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m going to try to update weekly, or as close to weekly as I can get. Also, let me know if you have any questions or comments or feedback or compliments! If there are any inconsistencies between Suzanne Collins’ or the film adaptations let me know! They may be intentional, or complete mistakes.

_I’m sitting in a room by myself._

_The Reaping is held in the District Centre, which is an expansive stone courtyard with a large marble building at the helm. I’ve never been inside the Centre building before this, but I’ve always imagined high tech gadgets, velvet and jewels, maybe a fancy fountain inside. The only thing I’ve seen so far is hard, marble floors; some lush, green plants in white pots; and soft, cowhide chairs._

_The first person to come in is Davi, who immediately comes in and drops onto a knee beside me._

_Davi is the brother I never knew I needed until I met him. He’s witty and real, unlike Lulee who can be a bit of a romantic at times, and he loves my sister more than I can comprehend._

_I’ve never resented him for taking my sister away, for forcing me to take care of my family in her place. I’ve never resented him for getting Lulee pregnant. I couldn’t, and I still can’t, because Davi is family and I would do anything for family._

_So instead of hating him as I could have, I added him into the Tessera applications already lined up, and I haven’t looked back since. So I don’t blame him for where I am, sitting in a waiting room in the District Centre, possibly seeing my family for the last time._

_I wish Lulee was here, but she’s probably laying in bed. She’s certainly watching on the tv. I wonder if she is crying._

_Lulee is twenty and takes after our mother, all delicate eyes and straight brows and soft skin. She married young too, as soon as she turned nineteen, just like our mother._

_Davi talks first, holding my hand the whole time. “Your brother was reaped too. He lost. Followed a trap, albeit a sneaky one, and got caught in a net. Got a trident through the back for that. You want to know what I learned from his Games?”_

_I shake my head numbly, focusing on how white my knuckles are around Davi’s. “Never act like prey.”_

_I nod. It’s good advice. But I can’t waste our time anymore._

_“Lulee has to take care of mom and dad once she’s better,” I tell him everything I should be telling my sister. I think about how she can’t be here, and neither can my day-old niece because the delivery was hard and she doesn't have the strength to stand up yet. “Dad’s back isn’t what it used to be, don’t let him get on a stallion again. Mom will be sad. Make sure she doesn’t cry the whole time like she did when Clyde was picked.”_

_I kiss his hand, giving him a hug. “Take care of my sister, Sambu. Tell her I love her.”_

_“As always, Tause.” He hesitates, before giving me a hug. I return it, holding on for dear life, but all too soon the door opens, and he is shepherded out by the Peacekeepers. Davi turns to face me once more, a white glove around his bicep to keep him moving. “I’ll take care of Brey too.”_

_The last thing he sees of me is a wavering grin as I try not to cry._

* * *

Niyu and I sit on the train, not saying a word to each other. Because we’re best friends, and we know each other too well. 

Niyu is strong. Determined. Loyal to a fault. 

I’m fast. Smart. Loyal to a fault. 

And our loyalties both lie with people at home. He has his father to return to, who needs him now more than ever. He has friends. 

I have my mother and my father, who can’t lose another child. I have my sister and Davi, my newborn niece, and Brey.

Lihn and Siles, 10’s only two victors, don’t know this as they sit across from us, observing silently. 

“Sable, what was your mother's name again?” Ovid is chattering incessantly, the everyone else replying shortly to his questions, but I’m not as irritated as I should be because complete silence would be worse.

“Zaya” I close my eyes, breathing slowly. This is what I’ve been taught to do when unbroken horses buck me off and the ground hits harder than expected. Even when my lungs feel pierced, I force air in and out, because breathing is the _only_ sure way to survive. 

“I see where your hair comes from. So exotic.”

_No._ I want to scream at him, to tell him that the _Capitol_ what’s _exotic_ and that they look completely ridiculous and they wouldn’t last a day in my world, but all I do is keep breathing. And the car lapses back into Ovid’s conversation with himself.

“Lihn and I have decided.” I open my eyes at the sound of Siles’ voice, which is softer than I expected. “I will train Niyu, Lihn will train Sable. Will you want to train together?”

I look at Niyu, who avoids my gaze, so I turn to the mentors. They seem indifferent to the question, so I stare at Niyu until he _has_ to flick his eyes to mine. 

“What?”

“We could do better together,” I speak like I’m talking to an angry bull, soft and cautious. 

“Until one of us slits the other’s throat.” A vein in his temple pops, and he stands. “You know me better than that. And I know you. You want the crown. I think it would be better if we just … ignored each-other until the end.” 

_Until I win_ , is really what he means. He’s already planning to kill me.

I knew he would reach that conclusion. But it still hurt, because he accepted it so quickly, and because he was my friend. We grew up together. We mocked the Capitol together. We skipped class together. And now we’re going to be strangers.

Siles nods at this, looking sadly at me before going to a different car. Ovid wanders off in the opposite direction, towards District 9’s car, muttering something about needing a new ‘look.’ I don’t really know what this means, because every time he comes for a Reaping he’s sporting coloured teeth and white hair. 

Lihn stares at me, and I lift my chin. She mentored my brother, and he failed her. I will not make the same mistake.

“You’re strong.” Her voice is quiet but calculating, and I begin to rake in all my hope again. Lihn won ten years ago, at seventeen, but she was the strongest contender 10 had ever seen. “Clyde told me you break the horses?”

“I do.” I take a deep breath. “I’ve been on ranging duty a lot too. I can herd well, I know how to get the animals to move how I want them to.”

One of the problems with livestock is how expansive 10 is. Sometimes herds will break away from the normal rotation, and their farmers will call in a ranger to get them back. We have to know how animal minds work otherwise they could end up halfway to the next District by the time we catch them. 

“Any particular physical skills?” Of course. Herding goats wouldn’t exactly be any help to her in the arena.

“I can use a whip.” I bite my lip. “I know everyone knows how to crack one, but I can grab things with it. I … I could hit someone with it.”

“I doubt they’ll put a whip in the Cornucopia.” Her mentor frowns, drumming her fingers on the table. 

“I can make one.” This has been my plan all along. I know I can’t win any other way. “I have to. I doubt I can learn sword fighting in enough time, if someone gets near me I’m dead. I’ve never held a bow in my life. What else can I do?”

“Can you throw?”

“Well…” I frown too. “Yeah. But I mean like, a rock to chase off a coyote or something. Not a knife.”

“If you can grab something with a whip, you have enough accuracy to throw a knife.” 

“If you say so.” I bite my lip again, fidgeting with my hands. “I can do some flips too.”

Clyde used to toss me up in the air and I would twist and turn to my heart's desire. It’s really all about rotation. It’s come in handy when I’m bucked off because I can usually rotate to land on the least breakable appendage.

“Good for evading.” Lihn nods. “Acrobatics will earn you some sponsors, too.”

She knows this because this is how she won the Games. Twisting and turning in the air to avoid knives and axes thrown in her direction. Her shining moment was against the last tribute. She dropped from a rocky ledge, doing a nice little corkscrew, slamming her feet into his back. The impact broke his spine, and she was declared winner moments later.

I was five when she won. I started asking Clyde to throw me around the next day.

I’ve run to the end of my little skills, so we sit for a while.

“When are the Reapings shown?”

“Soon.” Lihn stands, gesturing to food that somehow appeared since we’d been sitting. “Get some food to eat. You need your strength.”

She follows the same way that Siles and Niyu went, leaving me to stare at a table now laden with food. I approach it as if it may disappear as quickly as it appeared. I stare at the roasted chicken, various platters of stew, and bowls of grains I've never seen before. There were plates of bread and fruits, smaller bowls of creamy substances, and several decanters of brightly coloured liquids. There were towers of sweet-looking things: cookies with dustings of sparkly sugar, cakes with frosting piled high, little round bits of dough sitting in jam, and so many candies it made my eyes glaze over. 

Everyone trickles in, but I still stand by the table. I guess I’m just shocked that this much food existed, and it was being hoarded by the Capitol to serve us, kids they were going to kill off in a few week's time.

Niyu walks over to stand by me, and I wrench my eyes away long enough to see him looking sheepish. 

“I got ahead of myself.” He scuffs his toe against the floor. “I don’t want to ally with you because if it comes down to us, I don’t want either to have to make that decision.”

“What are the odds we’re the last two, really.” I laugh. “We both want to survive, but so does everyone else who’s gotten picked.”

We both stand in silence, staring at the food. 

“Eat, eat!” Ovid comes over and piles a plate high with sweets and fruit. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Where does-” I clear my throat. “Where does the food go? If we don’t eat it all?”

“The Avoxes take it away.” Ovid waves a hand at me as if he were talking to … well, he _was_ talking to a child. “Don’t worry about it! You don’t have to eat it all, I don’t think anyone ever has.”

Lihn comes up, grabbing two plates and glancing at me. “Do you eat meat?”

“I usually don’t. We hardly get good meat.”

She puts some rice on the plates and spoons a generous amount of stew with it. “Lamb.”

I exchange a look with Niyu, and he looks just as incredulous as I do.

Even though 10 is livestock, we only get to slaughter the sick animals for ourselves. We never get lamb or veal, because young ones that don’t go to the Capitol are raised for breeding. 

Lihn and Siles looked sadly at their protégés because we probably look like we’re lost at sea. 

We eat quietly, and I try to savor each bite. The lamb is tender, cooked perfectly, and the sauce has flavours that will most likely make me wake up drooling. 

When we finish, Ovid tells us to sit on the couches, and as we wait, he checks his watch over and over.

Finally, he turns the screen on in the compartment with a slim remote, and the once-translucent glass fills with the brightest colours I’ve ever seen. They’re showing some of the Reaping Gatherings in the Capitol, where excited citizens have gathered to see who they’ll be betting on in a week. It fascinates me because they’re dressed so ridiculously, but disgust rises soon enough. They celebrate the Reaping like it’s a lottery, and I suppose that to them it is.

I remember, the year Clyde was Reaped, that they showed a special on the betting tables in the Capitol. Drunks in 10 sometimes bet on how long each tribute will last, but it has a different feeling to it. They know the risks. They see the pain and cruelty for what it is. 

The idiots in the Capitol pretend the tributes are just puppets. They think our lives are insignificant. 

When he died, I heard that a man won some absurd amount of money on it. He called the day he would die, and the tribute who would kill him.

If I think any more about it, I really will throw up. I spent the majority of those Games sick to my stomach, and any time I think about it nausea comes back. 

As the colours slowly fade away, I push Clyde far from my mind, and the cameras switch to District 1. Their town centre is decorated in gold, with gems and velvet cushioned couches scattered around. Their people are dressed nicely, though not as gaudy as the Capitol, and they seem to be excited instead of scared.

I hate the Career Districts. They train for the Games, they volunteer for the Games, they live for the Games. They fall exactly into the Capitol’s net, trying to win glory and fame from death. 

The tributes from 1 are gorgeous. The girl, Flayre, is sixteen and tall and slender. 

“Skinny,” Niyu says.

“Toned.” Siles retorts, and it’s obvious when she waves that her slimness is nothing to scoff at. Flayre’s muscles ripple like a cat, lithe and controlled, and her eyes are glimmering in the sunlight. 

The boy has the trademark green eyes and blonde hair like his partner, but he’s slightly shorter and much, much larger.

Niyu doesn’t say anything about him.

The girl from 2 is terrifying, her smile unnerving as she volunteers and the girl that was originally called looks sullen. The boy is intimidating. He looks like he eats ten eggs a day, and though he’s slightly shorter than Irene, his legs are the width of her head.

“Watch out for Jax and Irene.” Lihn crosses her arms. “They’re the top of their Academy.”

I grind my teeth through the rest. The ones from 3 look pale and skinny, but their eyes are calculating. The ones from 4 aren’t huge, but they’re bronzed and proud and they both volunteer. 

Niyu clenches his jaw when the male one volunteers with unhinged glee. I do too.

The boy reaped from 4 in Clyde’s year, the one who ended up Victor, killed him. 

I make a mental note to steer clear from this year's tribute. He’s too happy

5 is horrifying because there’s a twelve-year-old called, but 6 is relatively uneventful. 7 has a tough-looking male but a terrified female. 8 and 9 are all starved, though a girl in 8 volunteers for her younger sister. 11’s are both tough-looking and older, but 12 has the oldest with an eighteen-year-old girl. 

By this time we’re well into District 2, and the landscape is filled with quarries. I look at them, the holes in the ground like open mouths, and I wonder what would happen if the train fell down one. I wonder if that would be better.

I don’t realize that Niyu and Siles left until Lihn speaks again, startling me out of my thoughts. 

“What’s your opinion?” 

I jump, looking my mentor in the eye. “What?”

“Your opinion. On the others.” Lihn was my height, and something about her would have been unsettling if we were in the arena together. She’s got an aura of unpredictability, which served her well in her Games.

“The Careers are strong but have never struggled for food in their lives. The others know how to suffer, but they’re not refined.”

“And where do you fall?”

“I know how to kill an animal, I know my way around a butchering knife, but I don’t get to eat any of our products unless they’re spoiled.” I take a deep breath, admitting the hope growing deep in my gut, but I smother it quickly. I can’t afford to get distracted right now. “But you’re right. Making lamb cutlets is much different than anything I’ve seen in the Hunger Games.”

Lihn leans forward, her eyes serious. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re observant, determined, and smart enough to win. We’re going to be arriving at the Capitol in a few hours. When we get there, we get to sleep tonight. The next day you’re going to meet your prep team, and you’re going to get dressed for the chariot ride”

“Is prepping … is it painful? Clyde looked…” I pause, taking a deep breath. “He looked like he wanted to pass out the whole time.”

“It’s uncomfortable, but your brother was not a good actor. He needed to win the crowd to get sponsors, just like you do, but he didn’t. He couldn’t get out of his head.” Lin looks at me, challenging me, and I accept it. “You have to play your part, no matter what. That’s what it takes.”

“I can.” We’re approaching the Capitol now, and I see the crystalline skyline in the horizon, glistening in the setting sun, and I lift my chin. There will be people looking in as soon as we enter the city limits. I get ready to smile.

“I will.”


	4. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I hope you’re all staying safe even though social distancing is being lifted slowly. Drink water, eat a snack, and enjoy!

Here’s a secret. Ever since I applied for my first Tessera when I was twelve, I knew I was signing my life away. Sure, Lulee was always Selected and she made it to see her nineteenth name day, but I didn’t hold as much hope for myself. My brother had already been Reaped, sure, but the Capitol loves to see family members. 

I mean, the year before Clyde got Reaped this girl named Cashmere from 1 was crowned victor. The year after Clyde, her brother Gloss was Reaped and the Capitol went wild. There have been children of victors, siblings, cousins of tributes. Clyde was fairly liked, he had a chance at winning. Why wouldn’t the Capitol want to see what his family is made of?

The Reapings have always been a bit loaded.

Besides, if one of the Tause girls was going to be Reaped, I always wanted it to be me. Lulee is beautiful and smart. She had a summer fling with the Mayor’s son until she met a handsome slaughterhouse boy and she married him instead. She did well in school. She’s not tough, though. The Games would chew her up and spit her out.

She never had the determination to break a horse. She never grew the courage to go out Ranging on her own, preferring to stay back and care for the horses with the stable owner’s daughter. She got too attached to Brey’s hogs and cried every time one of them went to the stockyard. 

My point is, I’m not really  _ that _ surprised I was Reaped. I think the numbness came from the realization of what Reaping meant for me.

Being apart from my family for the first time. Not being able to kiss Brey every day. Being fattened and fawned over like a prized calf in the Capitol. 

Something in my waistband pokes me, and I pull out Brey’s necklace. My token.

She always kept the pendant under her clothes, and she never let me see it — even when she gave it to me. She never really talks about her family (I guess that’s because they’re dead) but somehow I know the necklace was her mothers.

After Davi came to see me, Brey came in. She seemed to be all cried out because there was a determination in her eyes I wasn’t familiar with.

_ “You have to win.” She took my hands urgently, forcing me to stand up and face her. “You have to come back for me, for Lulee, for your family. We’re your family.” _

_ I nodded. My throat had closed up since my orders to Davi. _

_ “You have to win for us.” She wasn’t pleading, wasn’t bargaining. She was commanding.  _

_ I watched as she let go of my hands, and they fell to my sides rather dumbly. She slid off the leather cord that’s always hung around her neck, twisting it into a ball and shoving it into my hands. “They let you take a token from your District into the arena. I want you to wear this.” _

_ She closed my fingers around it before I could look at it, and kissed me on the forehead. I closed my eyes as she pulled away, whispering one last sentence. _

_ “Come back home. For me” _

_ She’s gone before I opened my eyes, and I tuck the necklace into my waistband without looking at it.  _

Now, I unwind the leather cord. 

The pendant is an irregularly shaped, pale turquoise crystal, but it’s not very clear. The leather is strong, bright brown and wrapped through a hole in the top, then wrapped several times around itself. I marvel at it —it’s beautiful.

No wonder Brey never let me see it. I probably would have convinced her to sell it for extra feed to fatten up her skinny hogs, to fetch a better price.

I’m sitting alone in my room, in a hotel reserved for the tributes of the closer Districts to stay in before the chariot rides. It’s outside of the main part of the Capitol, which is apparently important so the tributes can all ride into the city together on the chariots. It’s supposed to be a sign of union, but I think it’s ridiculous. 

There’s a knock on my door, and I jump. “Come in.”

Lihn peeks her head in the door, and I hold the necklace out. “I was given this to take into the arena with me. Will it be allowed?”

She takes it, inspecting the strength of the cord and the sharpness of the crystal. “Unless people think you could choke the other tributes with it, it should be fine.”

She hands it back and I put it on. “What’s going on?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me.” 

I look down at myself. My clothes are wrinkled from sitting on them all day, and Lihn seems to pick up on this because she says, “you can freshen up. Come out when you’re ready.”

I nod. Ovid told me to take advantage of the closet, so I pick out an outfit and undress. 

On second thought, I step into the bathroom. A polished stone floor, shiny black walls, a tub the size of my bed at home, and a showerhead in the middle of the room. I walk under the showerhead and glass walls come up around me, a panel with different buttons and switches comes out of the floor. I start pressing random buttons, and water comes out of, not only the showerhead, but hundreds of little holes hidden in the walls. 

The water runs down, brown from the constant dust and sand that lives on my body. 

Running water is pretty common in 10 because of the livestock, but it’s usually filled with minerals and you can’t control the temperature. Our soap is made from animal fat and doesn’t really smell that great.

This shower has so many scents of soap I get confused, so I settle on one that smells like roses. Then I think of Brey, who always liked to wear her mother's old rose perfume on nice occasions, so I turn the dial again. 

Sensing my indecisiveness, a little tube comes up and emits a scent corresponding to the soap I’m browsing through.

Pine, lavender, mint, and hundreds of things I’ve never smelled before. 

I pick one that reminds me of home. The desert after it rains — creosote, honeysuckle, silverberry, sage, and juniper. 

I wonder if Clyde used this one.

I finish getting the last of the soap out of my hair when oil that softens it drips down from the ceiling, and hot air begins to flow through the little glass cell. I am dry within minutes, my hair free of tangles.

I step out of the bathroom without looking in the mirror. I do not want to know what I look like under these perfect lights, cleaner than I’ve ever been, smelling of home. 

I put on a soft black sweater and thick black leggings. Even mid-day, the Capitol is much cooler than home. I braid my hair to keep it untangled and pull on my boots. 

They’re brown leather riding boots, but they’re the nicest ones I have and they’re comfortable enough. 

I emerge from my room, and Lihn meets me by the door. We are in one suite, the boys are in the other on this floor. I’m assuming the other tributes are on different floors so we don’t interact with each other, but as Lihn presses the top button in the elevator, I get curious. 

“What if there’s someone else up there?” The elevator starts moving, and I bend my knees for balance. I’ve never been in an elevator. I’ve never been in a building with more than two stories, really, so I’m excited to see what the world looks like from the perspective of a bird. 

“Then we ignore them.” She is deep in thought, and the rest of the short ride is spent in silence.

The top floor has walls of glass. There’s a bar with a white-clad Avox behind it, a few wooden booths, and a few high metal tables. There’s a mentor and tribute in the farthest table, and we start to walk past them until I hear a voice.  _ His _ voice. Lihn grabs my arm, but I stiffen away and turn towards him.

I know He is aware of us because they stopped talking, but he didn’t turn to face me. I don’t need to see his face to recognize the trademark blonde hair and broad shoulders. I must have been glaring daggers because Lihn tries to push me towards a door that leads to a balcony outside. 

"Sable, let's not do this now." Her voice is low and urgent, but I don’t let her move me. Our scuffle seems to have gotten his attention because he turns to face our way.

He’s older than he was when he came for the Victory Tour, but the sight of Finnick Odair still makes my stomach turn. 

_ I remember it like it was yesterday. My mother cried the entire night before, so her eyes were red and puffy. My father looked tired, and he was slightly drunk. My sister was pale, just stared down at her shoes the entire time.  _

_ I was the only one who looked on without flinching. I didn’t stop glaring at Finnick Odair, the fish boy. I hoped I was burning holes in his skull, but his ocean green eyes barely paid me any mind. He accepted his bouquet of flowers with a charming smile, and the older girls went wild as he winked at them. He met my eyes, once and very briefly, but he looked away before I could try to push all of my hatred (and hurt) into him. _

_ So I held on to it. It’s been festering inside me ever since.  _

I figured he wouldn’t even remember me, but he looks like he’s seen a ghost. His tribute is glaring at me, but I don’t look at him at all. Instead, I try to murder his mentor with my eyes. 

“Clyde Tause.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard an ounce of venom in my voice, but now my words are  _ dripping _ of it. My words are reeking of poison, and bile rises in my throat. “Remember him?”

“I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely distraught, which is not the reaction I was expecting, and my hatred falters. The thought of compassion threatens certain vomit, and when Lihn nudges me again, I let her lead me out onto the balcony. 

I run immediately over to the edge, looking down in awe.

I’ve only seen balconies, only seen heights like this, on the television. It doesn’t do it justice. Capitol people are milling about below us, but I can hear nothing but the wind. The sleek cars that glide around the streets look no bigger than my fist. 

I’m sure my eyes are as wide as they can be when I look at Lihn, because she relaxes. “I thought you would like it. Clyde did too.”

_ Oh. Right.  _

I turn and throw up in a potted plant. Lihn rubs my back. Tears run down my face and I let go of everything I’ve been holding in, because tomorrow all eyes will be on me and I cannot break down then. 

“I was his mentor, you know.” Lihn’s voice is soothing. “He was stubborn. An ass at times. Couldn’t act for shit. But he was a good kid. Goofy, kind. Too kind for these things.”

It’s true. Clyde was named after the giant draft horses bred for agriculture work in 11. Large, gentle, careful. My parents found his name after he saved a mouse from being eaten by a cat. 

“He loved his family. He loved you. He couldn’t stop talking about you, actually, about everything you would love and everything you would hate. He said you would make fun of him for being happy with his training score.”

I give a watery laugh because it’s  _ right _ . When I saw the number 8 flashing after his picture, all I could say to my family is how stupid he was probably being for celebrating it, when he should be focusing on survival.

“Before he went into the arena, he told me he would do anything to get back home.” Her words are more careful now, and I know she’s talking about more than just my brother. “That’s what every Tribute does. It’s what we all do.”

She holds out a glass of water, and I look up at her. “Don’t blame him. He did what he had to do to survive.”

I take the glass but scoff at her words. “He caught my brother in a net and stabbed him in the back-”

“He did what he had to do to survive.” Her repeated words are steel, and her eyes are flint, and I cannot look away from the fire burning in her right now. “I did too. And so will you, if you’re smart.”

“I just … I thought he could win. I thought that Clyde did everything right.”

“No.” She shakes her head, and I’m confused. Clyde was the first real chance 10 had in awhile. The only victors we’ve had have been Rangers, and so everyone had a lot of hope for him. He wasn’t handsome like Finnick, but he was large and athletic. “Sable, you’re thinking of the games all wrong. Yes, the Capitol says it’s a game of skill and strength and that’s true, but it’s mainly whether you can make sponsors fall in love with you. Think about what all the victors have in common.”

There’s nothing but the whistling of the wind.

“They all had fans. They all had a shining moment before that gong sounded, or very very shortly after. They made themselves memorable somehow, whether it’s by being extremely intimidating or handsome or smart. You’re going to have to do that too if you want to win.”

“So how do I do that?” I have to win. If I die in that arena, I don't see my family ever again. I don't see Brey. I don't get to scream at Finnick Odair and tell him how much he has made my mother cry, how much older he has made my father. I can't die in that arena.

“The chariot ride is tomorrow. Let’s talk about that.”


	5. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everybody is staying safe and healthy. As a resident of the USA, these past few days have been pretty stressful for me, so I haven’t been able to write as much. Luckily, I have about 10 more chapters written, fingers crossed that I can keep that little cushion going.
> 
> When I came up with this story, I decided I wanted every chapter ending with 4, and every chapter that’s a multiple of 10 (i.e. 4, 10, 14, 20) to be told from 3rd person. 
> 
> This chapter is really short because nobody besides Sable really has too much going on. But it’s the first one in this style, so I hope you like it!
> 
> As always, I welcome your feedback. Enjoy!!

* * *

Finnick watches the tribute talk with her mentor. Sable Tause. 

He remembers killing her brother. Clyde was older than him by four years, tall and athletic like his sister. He definitely had the intimidation factor going for him.

But when someone’s trapped in a net with no way to escape, they lose a lot of that threat. 

Finnick’s father had trained him to fish before he could walk. During his last moments with him, in the pearl white waiting room, his father had knelt down and handed him a shark tooth necklace. “Never forget. You’re born of the sea. You’re from the most powerful, fearsome, unknown things in the world we live in. You won’t lose to those _drylanders_. They’re no more than fish.”

_Easy for him to say._ Finnick scowls at the memory. His father had trained as a Career all eighteen years of his eligibility. He was born thinking like a hunter, like a killer.

Finnick had been born like a fisherman. On a boat, splashing around in the sea. Spearing fish with his trident, smelling of salt and wind, weaving intricate nets and traps. He wasn’t taught to murder. He was taught to be _alive_. 

That’s why he didn’t join the Careers, though they invited him. He couldn’t wrap his head around killing humans like he killed fish, no matter what his father said. The other tributes wrote it off as being youthful and naive (he was the youngest tribute that year), but he truly didn’t understand how they could be so nonchalant when thinking about murder.

When the gong sounded and Finnick got his hands on a sword, he learned how they did it. It’s easier to take lives when you don’t think about the lives you take. It’s easier to win the games if you think of your opponents like fish.

He shudders at the thought, the feeling of warm blood spray on his face like seawater, the feeling of life leaving the body in your hands. The thought of eyes, so full of life moments ago, stilling on something nobody else can see but the dead. 

Clyde had been kind to him in the short interactions they had. Holding the door, complaining about his cow outfit, complimenting Finnick’s pearl and salt costume. Called him _fish boy_ , but Clyde had a playful look in his eye and Finnick recognized his tone from some of the siblings in his school. Teasing, yes, but good-natured all the same. He even helped Finnick get to the Cornucopia during the bloodbath.

And Finnick repaid him with a trident through the back.

Clyde’s eyes had been so afraid through the net, so viscerally _petrified_ at the thought of being killed. He was thrashing against the ropes like a flopping fish on the ship deck, silent and frantic. Finnick vaguely remembers thinking something awful. 

_Who’s the fish boy now?_

Finnick felt the vibration of the metal when it pierced flesh and bone and vital organs. He felt the body go still under it. It felt like _survival_ , because anything else would make him weak and he couldn’t afford it.

Yes, it certainly was better to think of his enemies as fish. Inhuman. Cold-blooded.

This change in thought process was just something that equaled survival at the time. But now he regrets the coldness he showed in the arena. 

The look Sable gave him, so piercing and raw, was enough to make his words freeze in his throat. The accusation in her voice to make him relive every kill and how _empty_ he felt during them.

He hadn’t felt sadness, though there was plenty of regret after the fact. He hadn’t felt fear at how easy it was, though the panic at what he had become set in later. He hadn’t even felt disgusted, not in those moments.

No, the disgust was _now_. Disgust at who he was when he met with the families — just a Capitol robot, reading the cards prepared for him and smiling politely. Disgust at his comfort while 23 families were mourning. Disgust that he didn’t even think about meeting Sable Tause until she was staring him in the face again.

He thought that this would be an okay week. Since he was a mentor for the first time, Snow promised ahead of time that he wouldn’t be assigned any clientele to meet with during the games so he could focus on keeping his tribute alive. 

That relief was short lived, though, when Sable Tause walked out of the elevator. Of course, he’d vaguely registered she was Reaped but he was more concerned with his first mentee, who’s infamous in District 4 for smashing turtle hatchlings with rocks.

But when she glared at him, he forgot about everything else. He knew her eyes because she’d glared at him through his whole victor's speech on the Victory Tour. He knew them because, after he visited District 10, he could feel her eyes burning into him for the rest of the Tour. They still came to him at night sometimes, accusing and spiteful and glowing with hatred. And there she stood, phantasm made flesh. 

He wishes Annie were here. She would tell him everything was better than he thought it was and that he was being dramatic, and she’d hold him, and he’d be okay.

He’s not okay, though, because Annie is in District 4 and he’s stuck in the Capitol with a psychotic tribute to keep alive and a girl who hates him because he murdered her brother.

He hopes all the tributes die quickly so he can satisfy Snow’s clientele afterward and go _home_. Home to Annie. Home, away from Sable Tause.

He hopes, as awful and selfish as it is, that she’ll die quick and painless. He doesn’t want to see her death in his nightmares too, though he suspects he will no matter the circumstances of it. He suspects her death will be especially gruesome, because he wishes it not to. Because the odds have never been in his favour.


	6. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, work has been kicking my ass lately, so sorry for the late update!!!
> 
> I read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and I honestly could not love it more. I love villain origin stories and seeing Snow in all his glory was incredible. Cannot wait for the movie!
> 
> I'm also stoked because in this fic, we take a closer look at Snow than the original series showed. And my interpretation of Snow was spot on, so I'm stoked to incorporate actual canon things into the story.
> 
> It also means that chapters may take longer to come out as I try to figure things out. Some of my wishes for Sable will have to be reworked as I try not to copy tbosas and its intricate plot. Unfortunately, I read a lot of parallels in my plans for Sable and things that happened in the story (no, not the most obvious things) and so I want to take it in a different direction. If anybody has any theories on what I was planning on, feel free to comment or DM me!!
> 
> Also, I've created a playlist for songs that remind me of this story. I'll link it down below.
> 
> As always, enjoy! Stay safe! Stay sane :)

* * *

  
  


The first thing I noticed about my niece was how pure she looked. My sister was sweating and pale, her hair plastered to her face and blood on her skirt, but the baby girl was pink and her nails had no black grit stuck under them. 

I remind myself of a baby right now. My nails are clean and polished for the first time that I can remember, my skin glowing and as clean as anyone in the Capitol.

I am alone for the first time in a day. My skin is tingling and my hair is even smoother than the shower made it. I have no hair on my body and my eyebrows are perfectly waxed.

I am naked. Another similarity between a newborn and I.

My prep team reminds me of the buzzards that surround a dead animal, having picked at me until there was nothing left. They’re sweet, throwing compliments at my tan complexion, my long hair. They meant well, even though the tan is from working out in the sun my whole life and my hair is mostly to keep flies off of my back (another reason Brey calls it a mane).

Back in 10, I’m nothing special. Dark hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones. We all seem to share those traits. 

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never been considered ugly, I’ve gotten enough attention from people my age. I’m just not able to get by on my looks like some girls are, so I’ve never been one to pay much attention to my appearance. That doesn’t fly in the Capitol, though. There are more mirrors in this damn city than there are people. 

“Come, come!” One of the prep team — Caila, I think — comes in, grabbing me by the hands and leading me into another room. She presses a robe into my hands on the way, one made of fur. It’s a fur I’ve never felt before, soft and short-haired. I put it on quickly.

A tall, thin woman is sitting down at a table, drinking a steaming cup of tea. I can smell the jasmine, and something else mixed in with it. Something metallic.

That’s not what shocks me though. What shocks me is that her eyes are altered to look like a cat’s, her nose flattened into a snout, her lips painted into a little feline grin. She has whiskers as long as her hand. She’s wearing a luxurious fur robe that matches mine.

She stands as we enter, setting the mug down and holding out her hands to mine. 

“I’m Tigris, and you must be Sable. It’s lovely to meet you.” She has a warm smile, but her canines are pointed into fangs. Her eyes are angled and green, the pupils like a cats. She is every bit the tiger. Her voice even has a strange little growl after her sentences. “Do you like the robes? Black sable fur, I thought it was fitting. I’m your stylist. Sit, sit.”

She motions to the chair across from hers, and as I look around, I realize we’re alone again. I wonder if she would like to see my skin turned into a robe, too. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head, but she has some fruit and cheese brought out anyway. A silver teapot and another mug comes with it. 

“I do hope you like tea. I’m a bit of an addict.” A wooden box is beside her, and she opens the lid so I can look inside. There are millions of little bags inside and I take out a few. They’re pre wrapped bags of tea, in millions of flavours. I take a green one. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

“I, uh.” I think. “I break horses for my family to sell. I go ranging to keep our sector’s animals safe.”

“Yes, yes, I know that.” She waves a hand. “What do you like to  _ do _ , though?”

“Uh.” No way am I going to tell her about Brey. “Well, I like galloping the horses. I like looking at the stars.”

There’s other things besides Brey that make me happy, so I list those. My family. Dancing at festivals. A good meal. Receiving my pension for ranging. Seeing my niece.

She nods absentmindedly, lost in thought for a moment. I take a handful of grapes, popping them with my teeth one by one. “This is my first year in 10. The stylist before me did cowhide every year, so I’m trying something different.

I remember that. Clyde came out in nothing but cow print pants and a bell around his neck. I felt awful for him. No wonder he looked like he was in pain the entire ride.

“I’m not going to do that. I’ve been trying to experiment with different ways to represent livestock, but it’s hard.” She shakes her head. I suppose as far as districts go, livestock is one of the hardest to be creative. It’s not like you could dress us as decapitated lambs or something.

  
  


“Since dressing you up like a cow won’t work, and it’s my first year, I’m going to focus on the  _ products _ the animals give. Feathers are versatile, they come from chickens. I wanted to … well, that doesn’t matter because it wasn’t approved.” There’s a slight slip in her smug composure, something ugly flashing on her face. I wonder if it’s possible she feels anger towards the Capitol, even though she takes care of it quickly, shaking her head. “Feathers.”

She smiles, and I grimace slightly.

I am going to smell like a dying roost of hens. She has me finish off several pieces of cheese (the best I’ve tasted in my life) before having me stand and taken into another room. This one has a large mirror with lights around it, and a tall stool made of leather. I sit in the stool as Tigris brings in the prep team. Caila sprays my face with something smelling of chemicals, and the man named Marcellus begins to put polish on my nails.

My face is prodded, brushed, painted, and dusted. I am told to close my eyes, and then open, and then smile, and then relax my face in quick successions. They do not let me look in the mirror at myself, but my nails are painted the same pink the sky gets during a sunset.

Finally, I am told to stand, and the sable-fur robe slips off of me. I raise my arms and it feels like a million little pins are scratching me when the dress is slid over my head. I am guided into boots that raise me up on my toes, heels like the women in the Capitol wear, and though they’re not nearly as tall as some I’ve seen, I still sway a bit.

Tigris adjusts some things and the scratchy feeling fades to a dull itch. I open my eyes, and can barely contain my reaction.

I am dressed in a white feathered dress that comes to mid-thigh, but that’s not the thing that bothers me. What bothers me is the gigantic cape of feathers that fade from white to brown as they reach the floor. She holds up a pair of tall boots that are orange like chicken legs but have a pointed heel that’s definitely anything but avian. My hair is braided simply, and my makeup is light, but I can’t help but feel ridiculous.

I’m right about the smell too. No amount of Capitol cleaners and perfumes can mask the scent of a chicken coop.

When I step out, Lihn meets me and laughs. “You don’t look like a cow this year.”

I shake my head and look down, but my braided hair doesn’t budge. “It’s not a lot better, is it?”

I turn, and she looks disapprovingly, though she smiles again at the boots. I suppose you can’t really look good in the chariot fashion unless you come from District 1. 

She helps me walk down to the huge launch building, keeping me from twisting my ankles in the boots.

Niyu is already standing by the chariot. Our horses are dust brown, and I give them some pats. The owners of the chariot horses are the richest people in our District and live on large ranches in the northernmost part of 10, so I’ve never been near such fine specimens. They’re regal, large, and powerful. I miss the scrappy little mustangs I ride on ranges terribly.

Niyu is coordinated with me in a feathered suit with orange shoes on. He doesn’t look good in it either, even though he’s far handsomer so he  _ should _ look better than me. He looks so uncomfortable it takes away any of his good features.

We steadily ignore each other, until someone whistles behind me. “Lookin’ good, Ten.”

I spin quickly, and hear a spat out “watch it” but the two have already passed us quickly. It’s the male tribute from 4 and Finnick, who looks back briefly. We lock eyes for a brief moment, but I turn away quickly.

I look at Niyu with indignation, but he’s examining the metal of the chariot intensely, so I go back to petting the horses. Before long it’s time to get in. 

Most of the Tributes haven’t changed their styles. 1 is in over-the-top velvet and gems. 4 is in gaudy gold fishing nets held together by pearly-white fish hooks. 11 is in woven wicker with stalks of crops coming out of their heads. 

Niyu and I fit in wonderfully, which is both a blessing and a curse. We won’t be ridiculed extensively, but we won’t stand out to sponsors.

Lihn and Siles come up to us as we’re on deck to leave.    
  


“Remember what we talked about last night. Play your part. That’s how you survive.” Lihn nods seriously, and I put on my best smile. My cheeks hurt from practicing last night, but I force my muscles to stop whining and prepare to fake it for the crowd.

I tell myself that I don’t care how I look, how ridiculous my feathers make me. I am above my costume. I am not a chicken, I am a victor. 

The crowd is roaring by the time we exit, and I wave and smile as charmingly as I can. I spare a glance at Niyu, who (for all his good looks) is not winning any favors. He is stoic, jaw clenched, and I falter. I know he’s going to be an enemy the minute I hear that gong go off, but right now he’s my friend. He’s going to have to get sponsors if he wants to make it past the first few days. 

He looks at me, and I nudge his hand, waving once more at the crowd. He doesn’t follow along, though, so I try not to look at him again. It’s harder than it seems, though, because his misery acts like a black hole. My bravado is sucked away by the end, and it’s Lihn’s voice playing in the back of my mind that keeps me smiling.

_ Play your part. Get sponsors. That’s the difference between life and death. _

By the time the ride is over and Snow welcomes us into the Capitol, it is dusk. I can’t tell if the people loved me or hated me, but they were shouting my name when I passed and that’s all I can ask for. I need sponsors if I’m going to survive out in the arena. 

When we get down from the chariot my feet are aching from the heels, and I wobble. Lihn takes my hand, and Ovid chatters on about how delightful we looked compared to the others. “It will be good for you, how simple it is, because that’s how you’ll look in the arena. You’ll be more recognizable, which will earn you favor.”

I look down at the plume of feathers, thinking that it’s anything but simple. I guess our makeup isn’t as dramatic as it could be and they didn’t dye our hair like the tributes from 7, who were literally painted like trees. It was actually quite pretty, their skin, but I suppose I wouldn’t remember what they looked like if I saw them unpainted. 

I see Tigris on our way out of the courtyard, and I thank her for her work. She may be Capitol-grade, but she’s helping me survive the only way she can. Plus, the feathers  _ are _ a huge upgrade from cow print. 

Niyu thanks his stylist stiffly when I nudge him with my elbow.

Our ride to the Training Center is quiet. Niyu is brooding, Lihn and Siles are thoughtful, and Ovid has disappeared into a car with some of the other Escorts. We all meet up in the lobby, however, and Ovid says the other Escorts were jealous by how composed we were.

“Effie from Twelve is so tired of the coal outfits, and Gladius from Seven wants to claw his eyes out every time he sees a tree.” Ovid nods approvingly at our brown feathers, which are beginning to fall out everywhere. “Enough to be District-savvy, but not too literal. It’s about time Ten saw a real stylist.”

I look at his white hair and lilac teeth and wonder where he gets his style from.

We are on the 10th floor of the Training Center. The next few days are crucial to our survival, Siles reminds us, because it’s where we learn the skills we’ll need in the arna.

Lihn follows me back into my room, where I take my boots off immediately. The room is smaller than the one in the hotel, but it’s still the size of the first floor of my house. There’s a wall to wall window overlooking the city, and I pad over to it. 

“I think if you want you can change the view.” Lihn hands me a silver remote and sits down in a chair, watching me as I fiddle with the metal and the window goes from the Capitol to the forest. I swipe again, and it becomes a desert. Swipe, swipe swipe. Ocean, palace, river.

I stop when it becomes the view from 10. Cracked dirt ground, dry bushes, livestock in the distance. I can almost smell the hay and the sweet smell of horse. 

“Clyde liked this one too.” 

“Did you know he’s named after the horse?” I turn back to her, wanting to take my mind off of the Capitol. “Clydesdale. My mother said when he was born he was so large already, she couldn’t help but think of a plow horse, and it was decided on when he ended up being so kind. I used to make fun of him.”

I pause. “I really thought he could win, even without the sponsors. He was so big. He had allies. He made it to fifth.”

“Me too.” Lihn’s face droops, and I wonder how she does it. Mentoring kids year after year and watching them die year after year. Finally getting a contender, but he’s up against Adonis in a fourteen-year-old’s body. 

“Do you think I have a chance? Honestly.”

“Yes.” She nods, taking a deep breath. “I do. You’ve won the crowd already. I had a woman stop me on the way out, asking what your first name is. They already know your last name, and you made an appearance when you waved on the train. Non-Careers rarely do that and sponsors won’t forget that when the time comes. You just can’t get cocky, because the other tributes won’t like that.”

“Did they like me during the parade?”

“They did.”

“How much?” 

“Not enough to win. You’re going to need to forget about Niyu and focus on yourself. You’re in this to win.”

“But-”   
  


“He doesn't want to ally with you, Sable. He’s a lost cause. Siles told me he’s not planning on doing anything in training, that he’s going to give up in the arena.”

“Maybe he’s just-”

“No. He’s not just talking. And deep down, you know it too. The moment his name was called, he was working on how to die as peacefully as he could.”

I suppose it could be true. He didn’t react to much as the Peacekeepers took us off the stage, probably already thinking about his father burying his body. But it doesn’t make sense, because Niyu has as good of a chance to win as anybody.

“Why doesn’t he fight?”

“Because he knows he won’t win.” I move to argue again, but she shakes her head.

“He’s flat. Handsome, but not charming. Strong, but not fast. Skilled with a knife, but everything comes to him dead. He’s never had to kill anything. He knows that District 10’s victors have only come from the pool of rangers we’ve had.”

I nod miserably, and she softens. “Look, I know it’s hard. But it means it won’t come down to you two in the arena, which would be even worse.”   
  


“I don’t want him to die.”

“You can’t help that.”

“I don’t want to die, Lihn.”

“You won’t.” 

“How do you  _ know? _ ”   
  


“Look at me.” She has steel in her voice again, and I obey. “You said it yourself, you’ve got more survival skills than most of these kids. You get your hands on what you need and you’re good as gold. Do you know how you’re going to get what you need?”

“I need to play my part.” 

“You need to play your part.” She nods. “Get sponsors. Make the people love you, make them want to bet on you. And tomorrow during training, you don’t make friends. Not like Clyde did. Don’t trust anyone.”

That’s fine. I would appreciate someone having my back in the arena, but I know trust would end up earning me a trident in the back just like it did my brother.

But I’m not my brother. I will not die in that arena.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2A7yABivwnSRNZoBBvvN8v?si=AocDWXbLQGKPoE3Mhs5LgQ


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in love with Finnick Odair.
> 
> Also, this chapter isn’t one of my favorites. But the next chapter is. 
> 
> Has anybody checked out the spotify playlist? If so, what did you think?
> 
> Grab a snack, kick your feet up, and enjoy!

* * *

  
  


The first person to come up to me is the boy from 1. 

“Hey, Ten.” He nudges me with his shoulder, and I flinch away. “Easy, I’m not gonna kill you.”

  
“You don’t know that.” The words are mumbled, and I can tell he didn’t quite catch them, but I don’t repeat myself. No sense in making enemies, even though I shouldn’t make friends. _. _

“Edible plants, huh?” His tone is light and conversational, but he’s clearly bluffing. I highly doubt he’s here for the knowledge. Most Careers have stuck in the area they shine in this morning, honing their already deadly skills to razor sharp accuracy. “What are you reading about?”

“Berries.” He takes one from the table and moves to put it in his mouth. The instructor’s eyes go wide, moving to stop him, but I’m closer and quicker.   
  


“Don’t!” I smack it away, and he starts. “It’s poisonous. Nightlock. Kills you in minutes.”

“Oh, wow.” The instructor’s eyes are still wide, and I smile at him sheepishly. We hand him back all the berries. I’m sure they won’t be used in lessons anymore, even if the antidote is right in his cabinet.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“It’s alright,” he’s trying so hard to be gracious that I have to give him props. “I don’t think berries are my thing, though. I’ll leave you to it.”

I watch him leave curiously, wondering why he’s being so friendly when I’ve made no effort to talk to anyone. But then I read about all the poisonous berries that could be in the arena, and I quickly forget about everything.

I’m already well versed in toxic plants. Part of ranging duty is knowing what might kill livestock and what won’t, so we get pretty good at keeping an eye out on leaves and berries and blossoming flowers. If a herd of horses chance upon some belladonna, they’re as good as gone.

I shudder at the memory of my first ranging failure. 

_ The sheep were in a small oasis, and I was trying to get them out. I’d almost herded all to the edge our family sheepdog Wantabe biting at their heels. That is, until I heard the hiss of an adder, the scream of a horse. My horse.  _

_ The world tilts from under me as I fall, hitting the ground hard. Min, the horse, was already far away, hightailing it back towards home. I watch, waiting for him to halt at some point, but he doesn’t. I only stop staring once the dust he was kicking up settled back down, and he was gone.  _

_ I was a few hours on horseback away from home. It would be a long journey back, and it was already late afternoon. I’d made it back to the house by nightfall, Wantabe ensuring Coyotes and other creatures left me alone. I was hungry, though. _

_ My father and I rode out the next morning to find the herd.  _

_ It was too late. We found bodies instead of bleating sheep.  _

_ Father inspected the vegetation around them when he couldn’t find any marks of predators. He held up a single berry, dark blue one that looks like a fruit we may have during special occasions. “Belladonna.” _

_ I step forward, inspecting it. “Where does it come from?” _

_ He tells me about the plant, about how the berries look like blueberries but are tiny capsules of poison. He points out that these berries are sweet, but they’re deadly to anyone besides cattle.  _

_ “Now, there’s a Capitol-made breed that’s far more dangerous.” He tells me about how in the Dark Days, Capitol scientists mixed belladonna and hemlock to create Nightlock. Rebels would pick them by the bucketful to feast, but they would be dead before they hit the floor. _

_ When we went home, the owner of the sheep demanded payment for my mistake. We had to give him two of our best looking stallions, which were worth far more than some sickly sheep, but we paid anyway.  _

_ After that, I studied poisonous plants with vigor. My family would not suffer because of my stupid mistakes ever again. _

I grimace and look around, but there’s nobody near me. Everyone else is trying their luck with knives or swords or bludgeons. I watch the girl from 2 sink her sword deep into the throat of a dummy. She grins at me feraly.

No, I will not be able to train hard enough to go up against that. Not in the way everyone tries to, anyway. I’m going to need to outsmart them.

“Would you be able to tell me more about what not to eat?” I lean in, lowering my voice for good measure. “Deadly ones that will knock me out for sure?”

I learn all about seeds and berries and saps that can kill within hours of being ingested or inhaled or contacted with blood. Some of the natural ones are known to me and I can learn the more exotic ones, but there are so many Capitol-made ones I get a queasy feeling in my stomach.

A tree with sap that will give you boiling blisters in a matter of minutes.. A desert bush with berries that expel all the water from your body. A seed that, upon simply touching once, can absorb into the skin, shutting down organs one by one. Pollen in flowers that, when sniffed, will disintegrate your nasal passages to dust.

I stay there until lunch, double checking what the plants look like and how to watch out for them. 

It’s under the guise of making sure I don’t come into contact with them, but they can serve a different purpose too. Poison is a weapon rarely used in the games, but it’s going to be mine. 

At lunch, Niyu and I sit together. We don’t speak. The silence between us could freeze fire. Lihn has reminded me upon multiple occasions not to save him, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I know that having one less competitor would serve me well in the arena, but if I leave him to die I’m no better than Finnick Odair (and I have to be better than Finnick Odair) so until the gong goes off I will do all I can to help him.

Someone sits next to me as I crunch into an apple. I look over to see the boy from District 1.

“These won’t poison you.” He pushes over a cup of berries, pale yellow ones that I’ve never seen before, and I smile warily. 

“I’m glad.” I eat a few, and they burst in my mouth. They remind me of melon. “What are these?”

“I think they’re called cantaberries. I’ve been trying to eat everything here that I can.” He grins. I wonder if he is confident he’ll win. If he’ll be able to try everything he wants as a victor. I saw him throwing knives earlier, he already looked like a champion. 

Champions only win if they can survive, though. I don’t plan on letting him.

“I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves. I’m Glinter.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. Glinter, what a foolish name.

“Sable.” He turns his attention to Niyu, who is pretending not to notice anything around him. He’s lost weight, circles under his eyes. I think he’s already given up. “This is Niyu. My friend.”

He looks up at this, empty eyes meeting mine. I give him a small smile, turning back to the strange boy trying to befriend me.

“So, are you two allies?” Glinter motions between the two of us, and I hesitate before shaking my head. No use in pretending, the two of us haven’t exchanged a word in front of the others. “No?”

“We work better alone.” I try to act like it’s all fine, but in reality, I’m scared to go in the arena alone. District partners, especially from the weaker Districts, have a habit of allying out of necessity. The fact that Niyu will barely tolerate my presence, when we joked around in the back of the classroom for years, makes my lip want to quiver. But I force a smile, eating another berry. I know I’m not supposed to make friends, but turning down a Career is a sure way to make some enemies. And I’m not sure if I want the entire Career pack as enemies.. “Are you allies with anyone?”

“Yeah.” He motions to his partner from 1, the ones from 2 who sit with her, and the girl from 4. They’re all trying not to stare at us, but the girl from 2 glares at me again. Irene. I remember Siles telling us to watch out for them during the reaping. “March doesn’t work well with others either.” 

He must mean the boy from 4. Sure enough, March is sitting alone in the corner, brooding about all the ways to kill us. I wonder if that’s how Finnick Odair was too. Although, Finnick had an excuse to be antisocial, being the youngest of his year. This tribute is 17, Finnick’s age now.

“Why are you asking?” I’m trying to be casual, but my heart is racing. 

If I accept, they’d kill me as soon as I proved a threat. But if I decline I’m putting a big large target on my back because the Careers don’t just  _ extend _ invitations.

“Well, Flayre thinks you’d be useful.” He’s put his head on his hand, and I wonder if they only sent him because he’s pretty. He’s not Brey, though, and I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of how far away she was.. “The other three are on the fence, so they sent me to scout you out.”

“I think you’d be great. You know how to track animals right? We’d never go hungry with you.” He leans forward all conspiratorial, but all I can think about is how casual he was when his name was called. “So, Ten, what do you say?”

The Careers have been competing against each other for their entire lives, backstabbing their way to the top of the food chain. The Hunger Games are no different for them. 

Joining the pack is risky. It’s nearly suicidal. But when I open my mouth to say no, my gut churns. Images of me running for my life, dodging Glinter’s knives, flash in my brain and I know I have to accept.

I finally nod. Glinter seems to forgive my hesitation though, grinning wide. “I look forward to working with you.”

Like it’s a business deal, we shake hands again and he lumbers back to his table. 

Niyu turns at me with visible disgust. “A Career ends your brother’s life and you just join them without a second thought.”

I open my mouth to defend myself, because Finnick wasn’t a part of the Career alliance, and at least I’m  _ doing  _ something instead of  _ wasting _ my life wallowing in self pity, but I don’t get the chance. He gets up and dumps his tray, and they call the end of lunch. 

Flayre comes up to me, asking if I want to throw knives with her. I accept warily, but am relieved to learn she can’t hit the target to save her life. I’m not great to begin with either but Lihn was right in saying that throwing rocks has helped me. The biggest difference is the rotation, but before long Flayre is hitting regular bullseye’s and I’ve gotten a few by chance. Glinter comes up to us, and Flayre giggles like some of the girls in my class do when they like a boy. I try to imagine forming a crush on Niyu, knowing that one (or both) of us will end up dead by the end of next week. 

I concentrate on my next throw, about fifteen feet away. I hit the very edge. 

Glinter steps besides me, sinking three knives within the span of a minute. His grinning face looks down at me and I wonder how someone so deadly can smile like they haven’t a care in the world. 

“Your form is off.” He corrects me with the eye of a practiced thrower, which he is, and my next throw almost hits center. “You have good instincts.”

“I’d probably have more luck throwing pigeons.” My hope at poison and whips has faded back into a dulle pulse. I don’t have much to go on. My allies must be planning to kill me right off the bat, because I haven’t shown any signs of competency. My odds of finding time to craft a whip with Irene the Impaler and Glinter the Human Knife Dispenser are so very low.    
  


Flayre is good at archery, which is why she’s in the pack, but she can’t fight hand to hand for shit. I’m okay at punching, but I’m not strong enough to do real damage in enough time. 

By the time the session is over, I have tried just about every weapon. Throwing knives, spears, swords, maces, even an axe at some point. 

Lihn meets me in my room after Niyu and I get back, sitting herself on the same chair as last night. I tell her about my day, and she nods along with the poison theory. Tells me I’m going to need to work on memorizing exactly what things look like. 

“Did you talk to anyone?” This is the question I’ve been dreading.

“The tributes from 1.” Her face goes blank, and I press on. “Glinter came up after the required lessons. Then at lunch he invited me to join the Careers.”

“Did you accept?”   
  


“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” She frowns, rubbing her calf absentmindedly. “I hope they’re not planning something. You say you spent the entire morning at edible plants?”

“Yes.” 

“That’s not very … exciting, is it?”

“No,” I sigh. I don’t really have much of a draw for the Careers at the moment, besides Flayre thinking I ‘seem tough’ and I’m paranoid they might just be plotting too. Although, why they would make such an effort just to betray me in the end makes absolutely no sense. “I think Glinter was being genuine. He doesn’t seem like the backstabbing type.”

“Until he gets in the arena.” She stands, giving her calf an extra squeeze for good measure. Then she switches to the other one. “You have to expect a different side to everyone once that timer counts down. You would hardly recognize the tributes before the gong and the ones afterwards.”

I remember Titus, a tribute from a year long past, who began cannibalizing his victims. No doubt the games triggered some animalistic response in his brain.

I wonder if that will happen to any of the tributes this year. Maybe it’ll happen to me.

“Lihn, did I make a mistake?” 

“No sense in worrying about it now.” I can tell she’s anxious, though, so her words do little to mollify me. “We can use this to our advantage. Just show them how you’re useful without giving everything away. Keep your wits about you, and don’t trust any of them with jack shit.”   
  
Much easier said than done, and as she leaves the room, I flop down on the bed. This is going to be a long, long week.

I decide I can’t join them for dinner. I don’t want to face Niyu and his accusations and Lihn and her worry and Siles and his … well maybe he’d support me, but I don’t want to take that chance. 

Soon enough I’m heading up to the roof in some loose pants and a sweater, hair still dripping. I’m missing home a little more than ever, and anything that reminds me of it ( sopping wet hair, a meagre meal, a thick wool blanket tucked under my arm) is a comfort. I want to see the stars. 

When I get up there I think I’m alone. I walk to the edge, looking at the city, before hearing a throat clear behind me. I jump, spinning to see the stupid blond head that haunts my dreams.

“Are you here to kill me?” Of course Finnick Odair is up here. 

I  _ could _ murder him as he suspects. Or burst into tears. But either would end up coming back to bite me, so I do nothing of the sort.

Instead I ignore him, turning away and wrapping myself in the blanket. There’s so many flowers up here, and I absentmindedly pick a few. Brey would love this. She likes to pick the prettiest flowers and put them in her hair to smell when the pig stench gets too bad.

When I win, I’m going to be so filthy rich I’ll buy a whole greenhouse and fill it with blooming marigolds and roses and we’ll make our own perfumes to give to little girls and old women. I rub my necklace absentmindedly. 

The stars are twinkling. not quite so brightly as at home, but it’s the same sky. I can’t make out most of the shapes, but I can see the silver ladle and the little ladle twinkling. I wonder if Brey is looking at them too.

Finnick comes to stand next to me, leaning over the ledge. We ignore each other for a long time as I eat my dinner. An apple, some spiced beans, a flatbread of dark grain.

Even though it was ordered with the thought of home in mind, everything is ten times more delicious. Delicious, but sad. I miss the simplicity of home. I miss bland food and tough bread from the tessera rations. I can barely finish the food, homesickness turning it to ash in my mouth. I wonder how my family is doing. I wonder how they will do if my body arrives in a wooden box, rigor mortis already set in, rats eating away at whatever the arena left. 

But I can’t afford to think like that. I can’t even consider dying. 

My mind wanders to the arena. Will it be cold? I’m no stranger to cool temperatures — days are hot and nights are cold in District 10 — but snow would be a wrench in the plans. I’ve spent time in enough oases to know my way around a wooded environment, but I’m not good enough at avoiding vines and climbing trees to be able to survive. Anything with water wouldn’t be terrible, I know how to swim in case a horse decides to plunge me into the river, but I’m nothing like the tributes from District 4.

My best bet would be a desert. Maybe some trees for cover. A lake. 

Odds are, that’s not what will happen.

Movement catches my eye, and I see that Finnick is staring at me. Actually, he’s staring at my chest, and I catch his eye with a glare. He flushes.

Odair is famous for running through Capitol women like underwear. He’s showered with gifts and draped with women young and old, but he moves quickly enough to keep himself from getting attached. His female companions are not so lucky — most are left crying after him to newsmen or writing heartbroken messages to him in the tabloids. 

His handsome looks make him popular throughout all of Panem. He’s featured in required programming a fair amount, being interviewed or speculated by others. Girls love to talk about his Games at home, which is especially torturous. He makes it no secret that winning the games has been the best thing to happen to him since baled hay. 

It would be one thing if he was like other Victors, drunk every year like Chaff from 11 or a family man like Siles. But he’s thriving, rolling around in all his money and jewels while my family could barely spare enough money to buy baby clothes for Lulee’s daughter.

“Where did you get that?” He motions to my chest again, and I look back down. My hand is still rubbing the pendant like a good luck charm, and I immediately feel foolish.

Finnick Odair could sleep with whoever he wants, whenever he wants. Taking interest in the female tribute from District 10 would be a scandal for him (especially since he killed her brother) and I’m sure whoever is in charge of his fame would hate a blemish on his reputation.

“It was a gift.” I don’t want to be talking to him, even if he’s trying to be nice. I don’t want his kindness. I want to be alone. 

“It’s seaglass.” He holds out his hand, and I stare at it. 

“I’m not giving you the prettiest thing I own.”  _ I’m not giving you the only thing I have of Brey’s. _

“Seaglass is about as common as dirt.” He laughs, and I bristle. 

“Not in Ten. We don’t all have the luxury of lounging around in pearls and salt.” 

Pearls and salt. Fish. Boats. Seaglass. Murder. My knowledge of 4 is limited to what I’ve seen from Finnick Odair. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His husky purr has disappeared, and he sounds genuinely sorry. “I just … I’m not going to steal it.”

I wonder if he has ever been told no in his entire life, and I decide to be the first. So I stare at him, and he sighs.

“It is pretty.” He pauses again, and I don’t respond. “Who gave it to you?”

I don’t say anything, glaring straight ahead. He doesn’t really expect me to, because he turns back to look over at the city. Lights are flashing like a thunderstorm. People are having parties all around us, especially festive because of the Games. 

As I listen to the laughter and shouts floating through the wind, I can’t help but feel lonely. All these people in the city who screamed my name during the chariot ride, who are all going to bet on my life and forget about me if I die. Who will chant for me if I win, only to forget about me when I go back home. 

All these people, who I have to win over. I wonder what part they want me to play.

After a while, Siles comes up looking for me. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees I’m not crying or ripping out my hair or something, and exchanges a look with Finnick. I don’t know what it means, if it means anything, because when I let him lead me back downstairs Finnick is still staring out at the sky. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it a mistake to write this in first person? Yes. Can I go back? No.
> 
> We’re in this together folks!
> 
> Feel free to comment whatever you want. How are you? Do you like the story? What do you think Sable’s favorite color is? Where do you think this story might go?
> 
> I can’t guarantee the next chapter will be on time :(
> 
> But it’s already written :D
> 
> I regret every decision that has led to my usage of that emoticon, but I can’t take it back. Enjoy your week folks!!


	8. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE ENEMIES TO LOVERS!!!
> 
> Anyways, uhm. 
> 
> This chapter is a day late and a dollar short. I have no explanation except for the fact that I forgot what day it was yesterday.
> 
> Enjoy the story!

* * *

The week continues. I learn how to make a fish hook from Marina of District 4, how to make basic snare traps with Flayre, and teach Glinter how to make a campfire. Lihn instructs me privately on how to get out of a chokehold and other simple grapple moves. We work on fun things too (fun to me, at least) like flips, rolls, and dives to evade attacks. Lihn wants me to learn to climb trees like she did, but I turn out hopeless. I’m too tall to maneuver myself like her, and we give up on it pretty quickly.

Lihn and I go on runs around the tribute center to keep me moving. Running is crucial in any sort of Game, and it keeps me from losing my mind. Back home, I would have to run after horses who didn’t want to behave, so I’m good enough, but Lihn is so incredibly in shape that I feel incompetent. 

Niyu continues to exist in silence. He reminds me of a ghost, appearing and disappearing quickly. He hardly eats. The bags under his eyes grow bigger every day.

I eat dinner on the roof with Finnick, who doesn’t try to talk to me anymore. Nightmares I can’t remember come for me when I sleep, and I stare out at the image of home for the rest of the night. I suppose there are bags under my eyes too.

I sit with the Career pack at lunch, and they tell me their strategy. Glinter, Jax, Irene, and Marina will secure the Cornucopia since they can fight pretty well. Flayre and I are essentially useless until we get some weapons, and we’re especially useless dead, so we’re to run until we find cover and come back to the Cornucopia when the bloodbath is over. It’s a good plan, especially because I don’t feel like dying in the bloodbath.

The week moves far too fast for my liking. Too soon am I sitting in a room with 23 other tributes, declining in number minute by minute, thinking about what I will show the Gamemakers. Niyu looks terrible, and I reach out to hold his hand.

He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. I miss him terribly, even though he’s nearer than anyone else from home. He’s so removed from the world that he might as well be dead already.

I look at him now, and the fear in his eyes is so primal that it reminds me of a calf at the slaughterhouse. His name is called before long and he moves to get up.

“Show them what you’re made of.” It’s barely a whisper, and Niyu nods curtly before walking into the elevator. 

My name is called, and I make eye contact with the tributes from 11 and 12. 

“Good luck, little girl.” The boy from 11 nods, and I nod back. 11 has a fairly good relationship with 10 because we supply the plowhorses, and they supply the feed for our animals. We interact with each other more than anyone else, at least.

“Good luck.” 

The training room has been transformed. Mostly empty now, with racks of weapons, paint, rope, and targets at the end. The Gamemakers sit on their balcony as usual, and they’re already slightly drunk. 

I survey the weapons, and my eyes land on a coiled silver bundle. A bullwhip. I grab the handle, noticing the whip is wrapped in leather, not cord.

I showed Lihn my technique, and we worked on the best ways to attack with it. I’ve never hit a person with a whip before, but I’ve seen plenty of whippings in the square. 

They happen for all sorts of reasons: stealing, being out in town past curfew, complaining about the Capitol, hunting illegally, quarreling, selling or buying from the black markets. The offenders are brought in from all over the District, and our Head Peacekeeper oversees each lash, though there’s a rotation on who actually administers them. We wouldn’t want their arms to get too tired. 

I remember the first time I saw a whipping. My parents made no effort to shelter me from Capitol punishments, so I was quite young. I remember it all.

  
The intake of breath after each  _ thwack. _ The smell of rotting flesh and poultices administered by the thief’s grandmother. The agonized yells turning into quiet whimpers. 

I will be the one doing that to people in the arena. 

But I need to keep focused.

The Capitol’s whip is freshly made. I bet it’s never been cracked. As I unroll it, the leather is stiff. It’s longer than the ones from home too.

That’s okay, I can work with it. 

I’m sure the little coil has been overlooked every single year the Gamemakers have been here, because they go silent as I lay it down on the floor. I back up, launching into the sequence I’ve been working with Lihn on. 

A roundoff to a backflip, shifting my weight into my toes to launch off and twist through the air. I land in a crouch, rolling forward onto my back. Legs come up, using my momentum to rocket myself to a standing position, where I do a back handspring into another backflip. 

I’ve overshot this last movement, and my right ankle twinges painfully as I teeter. I don’t fall, though, dive rolling to the handle of the bullwhip.

I grab it, standing, and give it a loud crack. 

Several Gamemakers jump, and I grin. I use the whip to grab a dummy leg, yanking it down from it’s hook. I flick it again to rip open a sandbag. When I swing it back, it wraps around my leg and I have to unwind it. Then I flick it one last time, with about as much force as I can muster, down on the fallen dummy.

It’s chest cracks open, and I smile tightly. I will not think about what will happen when there is a real human body there instead of a dummy. I will not think about the blood spurting out. I will not think about the sound of bone crunching. I will not think about the lives I will take.

Instead, I think about going back home. Seeing my family again. Living in the Victors Village. Watching the sunset with Brey.

My session went about as well as I can hope for. Besides the bad landing and the accidental leg-wrapping, I’ve done everything I hoped for and more. I loop the leather again, lying it on the metal table, and the Head Gamemaker smiles at me, nodding for my dismissal.

Perhaps the Gamemakers will put a whip in the arena after all. 

The elevator takes me straight to floor 10. Niyu is sitting on the couch with Siles, Lihn, and Ovid. They all turn to me when I come in.

“How did it go?” Ovid pats the couch beside him, and I sit. 

One of the avoxes comes to me with a glass of ice water. I drink it thankfully, aware of the sweat dripping down my back. 

I say thank you as I always do, though Ovid shoots me a look.

Avoxes are common knowledge in 10. If someone does something too terrible to warrant a whipping, like try to run away, they are sent to the Capitol to have their tongues mutilated. Sometimes they’re sent back to serve the mayor, their visibility an example of what President Snow will do to anyone who murders or commits treasonous acts, but more often than not they’re kept to serve the people of the Capitol. 

I don’t think I’d mind being an Avox, in all honesty, though it’s Brey’s worst fear, losing her ability to sing. At least Avoxes don’t have to answer stupid questions like ‘ _ how did it go _ ?’

It’s kind of like asking a chicken how it tastes. Everybody already knows (besides the chicken) and yet the question is still asked. I realize everyone is staring at me, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my temple. I wipe it away with a scowl. “Fine, I think. Aemilius Marcum smiled at me when I was dismissed.”

A smile from the Head Gamemaker sends Ovid into praise, and Niyu congratulates me halfheartedly. I wonder what he did, because he seems more weighted down than he ever has.

Dinnertime comes, and the stylist’s come to eat with us. Maybe they always have, but I’ve just been up on the roof. 

Tigris talks with me as the others chat about what flowers are in season, and I learn about how she became a stylist. Born into a semi-poor situation, poor in Capitol terms, she took an interest in fashion early on, wanting to make a name for herself. Before long, she was entranced by the ways animals are both practical and fashionable, and she began styling furs and leathers and wool. Originally the stylist for District 2, she was transferred from District to District as newer, younger stylists came in.

I wonder if that’s where her anger has come from. Being thrown around like a used up toy.

It’s then that I decide I like Tigris. She may be a little odd, eating raw meat and walking with a feline face, but she’s kind and genuine. I just wish she would get rid of her whiskers.

Just as I’m finishing some iced strawberry juice, it’s time for the scores to be announced. 

I sit by Ovid again, biting my thumbnail. The pretty, pale polish the prep team gave me has chipped in all the work I’ve been doing, and I frown. Nothing is permanent. 

The people in my allied pack all get high scores, ranging from 7 to 9. The boy from District 4 scores a 10, and I frown. He told me I looked good before the parade, but who knows what that means. All I know is that he’s a threat. 

Districts 3, 7, and 9 have moderately good scores. The little girl from 5 scores a 6, which is pretty good for someone that young. 6 has the lowest, the boy scoring a 2. 

10 is next. Niyu flashes on screen, his tired looks edited out so he looks handsome once more. He gets a 2.

“We can work with that.” Siles sighs, face drooping, and Niyu shrugs. He truly has thrown his life away, then.

I barely have time to think about this new event when my face flashes on screen. I’m stunned by how I look; I haven’t checked a mirror since the chariot rides. My eyes are coal black and fierce, cheekbones high, mouth perfectly smooth. I’m sure it’s edited. What surprises me, though, is how cold I look. I don’t think I would recognize myself if I was watching at home.

After my face is the number 10.

Jax and Irene got 9’s, and I haven’t shown half their talent during training. Recognizing edible plants and tracking herds couldn’t possibly score high, so my allies must know I’ve been hiding something. 

I smile when Ovid and Tigris congratulate me, thanking everyone for their support. Lihn is staring at me like she knows every thought I’m having. We go up to the roof to chat.

Unfortunately, there are several other pairs of tributes and mentors up there too. Finnick and March. All four mentors and tributes from 1, who wave at me. The two tributes from 12, who aren’t with their mentors. We all go to opposite sides of the area, and the wind has picked up today, so none of us will hear each other. 

“You impressed them like we planned, then.” 

“I don’t think they’ve ever seen a whip in action.” I give her a grin, drily thinking about all the ways Jax and Irene will kill me. A knife in the back. A sword through the ribs. A spear through the throat. “They’d probably give me a ten even if I just cracked it the whole time.”

“A ten is good. It means you’ll get sponsors.”

“Maybe one of them will send me a ticket out of the arena.”

“You impressed them.” She isn’t having any of it today, grabbing my hand. “Sable, you go into the Area in two days. Stop having an attitude.”

I look at her incredulously. “This whole thing is a joke. Whips don’t kill anybody, swords do. The only thing I’ve managed to do with a ten is put a target on my back.”

“You did that the moment you agreed to join their little pack.” She crosses her arms, scowling. Clearly her thought process has worked the same as mine. 

“Yes, well, I don’t think I’ll be welcome with them for long.” I turn away from her. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I just want to go home. “I mean, we all want to win. I shouldn’t have said yes, I was stupid.”

“So what. You’re going to betray them? Run away? They’ll hunt you down for sure if you do that.”

“They’re going to hunt me down anyway, Lihn. I should’ve gone for a low score, nobody would think twice about me then. Now they think I’ve been hiding things.”

“You have been. Deal with the consequences or give up, Sable. Now is not the time for regret.” 

“I know.” I’m gritting my teeth. Talking to her is like talking to sandpaper. Sure, she’s trying to keep me alive, but so am I. “I just wish that I would have gone for a lower score. That’s all.”

“Look, we can’t change it. We’re just going to have to work with this the best we can. You’ll get lots of sponsors this way, you’ll just have to watch your back with your allies. Let’s get some rest, we’ll talk in the morning.” Obviously she is tired of this conversation too. I’m glad. I want to be left alone. 

“Fine.”

She walks back downstairs, and I stare at the sky. It’s already dark, and stars are peeking out from the clouds. There’s more of them at home, where the skies are wider than the ocean and the whole sky gives off a soft glow.

Sometimes, I would get put on ranging trips that would take me all the way to the reaches of Panem. Once I met the Peacekeepers at the Outpost, the last building before complete wilderness, and they pointed me back around. Said they’d seen two buffalo heading back towards town.

I never found those buffalo (I suspect the Peacekeepers ate them), but when I made camp out in the desert I saw more stars than I’d ever seen in my life. I took longer on my trips after that, getting comfortable being surrounded by nothing but cacti and dry bushes. It’s not as lonely when you look up.

My heart aches. I wonder what my family is doing, whether they know what to do with a daughter that scored a 10. I wonder if Brey is thinking about all my talents, which consist of surviving and kissing her. 

I’ve probably been standing for an hour thinking about home when I’m interrupted from my thoughts.

“Congratulations, Ten.” Glinter comes up behind me, and I notice Flayre and the mentors from 1 have disappeared. “I guess ten means more than one thing to you now.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” I stare at him, and he reminds me a lot of my brother. Even though he’s a Career. Even though he has trained for the Games and he’s never gone hungry in his life and he’s in it for the glory, he doesn’t seem bloodthirsty or cruel. He just seems sad. “Why did you want me in your alliance? Really.”

“Careers don’t know skills like the other districts do. We don’t know which berries will kill us or which traps catch rabbits, and so Flayre thought to bring you in. She thinks you looked determined at your Reaping, not scared, so we all decided it would be good to have you.” Glinter sighs. “Plus-”

“Tributes from different Districts can’t talk to each other until the Games start, but you know this Glinter.” A teasing, seductive voice interrupts him, and I turn around with a glare. 

“ _ Fuck you _ , Odair.” 

Glinter seems surprised by my anger, but seems to think better of asking me about it, because he looks at Finnick, back to me, back to Finnick, and backs up. “He’s right, I did know. I just wanted to congratulate you. I’ll see you in there, Ten.”

He never did tell me why else he wanted me.

I am left with Finnick, who looks about ready to punch me, alone on a roof. All the other people went back down, presumably to bed. It’s dark, and a lot of the Capitol residents have begun to file out into the streets go home.

“What is your fucking problem, Tause?” He stalks closer to me, nostrils flaring slightly, and I back up against the ledge. Lihn showed me the force field, so I know I won’t die if he decides to push me off, but I’d probably be hurt enough that I’d die in the bloodbath. I’d definitely be too ugly to earn any sponsors in the interviews tomorrow. I try not to show my fear, though, and lift my chin.

“Don’t call me that. You know what my problem is.” 

“Oh right. I put a trident through your brother.” He scoffs, and I resist the urge to slap him. “Can’t say I’m too sorry about that. I am alive, after all.”

“It should have been you.”  _ It should have been you that died. My brother should be alive.  _

“Yes, well, it wasn’t.” He cocks his head. “You’ve got a lot of anger for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl.”

“You’re what, fifteen?”

“Sixteen soon enough.” 

He hesitates, eyelids fluttering shut for a millisecond. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he looked sad, but I  _ do _ know better. Finnick Odair doesn’t have the capacity to be sad.

“Either way, you don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “Not until you get into that arena, and your life is on the line. You won’t be so high and mighty when you have to survive.”

“You think I’m acting high and mighty? You think you’re any different? During the Victory Tour you acted like you were blessing my family with your empty words.” My voice is rising and I can tell I struck a nerve because something in him snaps. 

“You think I wanted to read off of those stupid cards?” His words are hissed through clenched teeth and he’s stepped so close I can see the veins pulsing in his throat, feel the heat of his words on my face. “You have no idea what it’s like-”

“-poor you and your sad scripted life. You expected us to celebrate you like some kind of hero _ - _ ”

“-I never wanted your approval-

“-you never apologized for what you did-”

“-specifically told not to offer condolences to anyone-”

“-your stupid ‘Panem forever’ bullshit-”

“-the Games don’t end when you leave that arena-”

“-like I’d fawn over you like your little Capitol lovers and forget that you _killed my brother-_ ”

“- _ I had no choice- _ ”

“-he _saved your life_ and you _killed him_ like an _animal_.” 

My last sentence hangs between us, and I can almost sense Finnick’s self control form a muzzle on his emotions because his eyes dull and he turns away.

I feel the damp trail of tears on my cheeks and I brush them away angrily. “You would have died without him the moment those Careers cornered you.”

“I know.”

With that acknowledgement, the angry buzz of adrenaline starts to cease and my blood starts to cool down. I will him to turn back around, to keep fighting, because I’ve waited _so_ _long_ to let these words out and there is _so much more_ to say.

But he doesn’t, and so I lose it. He must feel it, because after a few minutes of me staring at his back he speaks. 

“You should get to bed. Interviews tomorrow and all that.”

I continue to watch him, willing some semblance of venom to come back into my mouth, but all I feel is a deep ache in my bones and heart. 

I turn and go back to my room.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realize these chapters have been insanely short. I apologize for that!! Just know that the chapters in the arena will probably be longer because they’re (honestly) not as important to the story as they were to Katniss’s (did I do that right? Grammar is a bitch.)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it :) Stay tuned!


	9. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone DM’d me on Pinterest with an observation on how my mood-board features a lot of Yes, Sable has a lot of East Asian traits. I read something saying District 10 has a lot of East Asian/Pacific Islander/Native/Latin people (who all are thought to share a common ancestor) and I thought it would be interesting to dive into the politics of Panem more than the original series did. Like how District 11 had a lot of Black people, District 1 seemed majority white. 
> 
> Let me know what your theories on that are! I’ll be diving into that a bit more during the second movement of this story, since Sable’s a little too preoccupied with survival to think about racial relations.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

  
  


I wake up sweating but I can’t recall why. I hardly ever remember my dreams, which rarely visit, or my nightmares, which plague me regularly. 

I can’t go back to sleep so I throw on a large sweater and wrap myself in a blanket, splashing cold water on my face even though I’m shivering. 

I ask for a mug of sage tea, which arrives immediately through a little compartment in the wall. I put an order in for some 

I stare out at the desert scene in my window, where the stars twinkle peacefully. Eventually sleep comes, and I fall into uneasy dreams once again.

  
  


The morning begins with breakfast, which is quickly wolfed down by Niyu and I. Then I am sent to Ovid, who works with me on proper etiquette for sitting, standing, walking, smiling, laughing, and just about every action imaginable. I learn to flip my hair and giggle, to cover my mouth shyly. I learn to properly walk in heels, which would have come in handy about seven days ago for the chariot costume. I wonder what Tigris has come up with for tonight. Probably horns and a sheep costume.

Lunch is quiet. My feet ache and Niyu is scowling. 

After, Lihn works with me on how I should conduct my interview. I’m reminded to ‘play my part’ every few minutes and instructed not to act like Clyde, who looked like a calf separated from his mother too soon.

I suppose he was, in a way.

We settle on being confident and friendly. I'll earn sponsors, but I won’t be intimidating to the other tributes. Well, until Caesar brings up my training score. I’m not sure if I can be friendly enough to make the Careers forget about a 10.

The car ride to the interview building is silent. I take in the colourful people milling about, smiling softly at a little blonde girl with two bows in her hair. She waves at me. I hope her mother saw that, and I hope she has money.

The prep team fixes me up and I thank them. Luckily my legs have stayed hairless this week (not that there was much hair on them to begin with) and I could forego the waxing this time around. Tigris tells me to close my eyes and I do, while she slips something warm and sturdy over my head. Then she tightens something around my waist, and I stumble at the sudden compression. 

I hear her chuckle behind me and I sigh. My prep team — Caila, Ciaus, Cyprian — laughed at my discomfort with their plucking and ripping my hair out too. It seems that Capitol people will always be tougher when it comes to beauty regimes. 

Still, drop them in the heat of the day in District 10 and tell them to run after a loose horse and I can guarantee they wouldn’t last 15 minutes.

Tigris leads me to the mirror, and I open my eyes.

I am wearing a dark green and white wool dress. The different pieces are connected with leather cord and bone eyelets, a leather girth around my waist. The dress is short, ending far above my knee, and the cord is tied so loose that I can see an inch of skin between the green and white wool. 

I am laced into tall leather riding boots with a scary heel, but they offer more ankle support than the shoes Ovid made me practice in today.

I look like one of the chicken house girls back at home. Girls who could make a living by being pretty often chose that route, living in houses with other pretty girls far away from town, raising chickens and selling their bodies to men. I had to pull Clyde and his friends out of a few of those establishments, and the girls would often coo over me while the boys ponied up their cash.

I suppose Tigris doesn’t know how those girls dress, though, and as far as Capitol style goes this dress is pretty tame. Once again, I am forced to recognize that all my stylist is doing is keeping me alive.

She could have dressed me in cow dung, or in some scandalous gown like some of the girls walk out in. Plus, she’s left my face less warped by powders and creams than most other stylists too. The only traces of makeup are a slight dusting of glitter on my cheeks and the corners of my eyes, a slight stain on my lip, a dark cream on my lashes to make them longer. I truly have it better than most.

“Thank you.” I turn to Tigris, who gives a ghost of a smile. 

“You’re welcome.”

When I step out Lihn gives me an approving nod. “You look better than ever. Remember, you’re confident. Collected. Never second-guess yourself. Smile.”

I nod. 

Niyu joins us and we are led through a few sleek tunnels before I see more groups of tributes and mentors gathered. There are more Peacekeepers too, silent and backed up against the walls. They’ve been present whenever the tributes have been around each other, but their tinted helmets and still postures still make me uneasy. 

Siles, Lihn, and Tigris wish us good luck and go to find their seats. All the other mentors and stylists leave too, and I can see them talking to each other. I catch a glimpse of sea green eyes looking my way as Capitol attendants start herding us around, and I contain a scowl.

As we are led up to the stage, I’m disgusted by the roaring of the crowd. I’m disgusted that Flayre, sixteen years old, is dressed in a see-through, diamond studded jumpsuit that could make grown men salivate. I’m disgusted that the twelve year old from 5 has been made to look my age in her makeup and heels. 

Caesar is dressed in a deep emerald suit to match his hair, his makeup. It’s certainly better than his look during Clyde’s games, where his crimson lips made him look like a clown.

Flayre talks in a breathy, high voice and flirts with the crowd. Glinter charms the shit out of Caesar. Jax is cocky and strong. Irene is slightly scary but calm and collected. The two from 3 are quiet and nervous, but Caesar in his peacock blue hair makes them charming. Marina is sweet and nice where March is dark and intense and slightly unhinged. The interviews are quick, three minutes each, but it’s enough time to see each person try their hardest to survive. It’s heartbreaking.

The Capitol laps it up like cream.

The girl from 5 talks about the styles in the Capitol, how she would like to design clothing if she wins. The boy from 6 talks about his crush from home, how he hopes to see her again. I can barely force myself to listen. I used to watch the interviews at home, almost excited to see how people from the other districts live. 

It’s different when I know I’ll be put in an arena, forced to kill some of them while they try to kill me.

When I am called, I freeze for a moment. I do  _ not _ like people looking at me, I barely like looking at myself, but I regain my composure soon enough. I force air into my lungs, a broad smile on my face. 

I am not the Sable Tause of District 10, I am the Sable Tause who will win in the arena. 

I walk up with a grace I didn’t know I possessed, sitting across from Caesar. 

“My, my, Miss Tause.” He gestures to my outfit. “You certainly look beautiful in that.”

“Thank you Caesar.” I tilt my head, motioning to him and crossing my legs. “You look handsome tonight as well. I  _ love _ this colour on you.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He waves off the cheers of assent, and the crowd quiets down. The approval of the crowd makes me feel better, and my muscles relax (albeit marginally). “We seem to be twinning.”

“I think it’s meant to be.” I grab his hand, looking for a ring, and the crowd roars.

He shakes his head with a grin, sitting back after a few beats. “Now, Sable, you happened to score a considerably high number yesterday. Many people were surprised, this is the highest score District Ten has seen in a very long time. What happened in that room?”

_ Confident, confident, confident.  _ I give a chuckle and lounge as comfortably as I can in the corset. “Well, I can’t tell you much without giving up my secrets, but I don't think the Gamemakers expected it.”

I scan the crowd, stopping when I see the Head Gamemaker Aemilius Marcum and give him a wink. He smiles momentarily, waving to the people around him. The crowd goes wild. 

“Apparently not. Now, you’ve grown up in the southern part of Panem,” I turn back to Caesar, lips still twisted in a little smirk, “it must be a lot different. How are you liking the Capitol compared to your home?”

“The Capitol certainly smells a lot better.” I grin wryly, reaching over and giving his wrist a sniff. I widen my eyes, going back for a second smell. “Caesar you  _ must _ lend me your cologne the next time I see you.”

“Tell you what,” he smiles conspiratorially with me, “you make it back up on this stage to see me and I’ll gift you a whole bottle myself.”

I put a hand over my heart, laughing. “You’re too kind. You can bet I’ll make good on your promise, though, so buy that bottle soon.”

“You seem sure of yourself.” I nod, leaning back again. He grows serious, scratching his chin. “How do you think you’ll do in the arena?”

“Honestly, I think I’ll do well. I’m strong enough, fast enough, and smart enough to make myself a contender.”

“I believe your brother, who sat where you sat three years ago, said the same thing.” The room goes silent, and there seems to be a change in energy at the solemn topic I can see why he’s been the host for years: he’s good at playing the crowd. “How did you feel being the second person in your family to be reaped?”

“I was sad to have to leave my family like that. They were so afraid.” There’s some sort of warning that flashes in Caesar’s eyes, and the collar around my neck tightens with my chest, reminding me to censor myself. I wonder if Tigris chose that accessory for a reason, if she knew Caesar would ask this. If she knew I would need a reminder to check myself. “But I was … I  _ am _ determined to show that District 10 will not be counted out of the games.”

Caesar nods approvingly. “I don’t think for a second that anyone will count you out. Now when you said your goodbyes after your name was called, did you promise your family anything?”

“I told them that I would win. I told them I would come back home as a victor.” My voice leaves no room for doubt, and I’m sure my face is about as serious as possible.

“I believe you. Do you believe District Ten will give you any advantages over your opponents in the arena?” 

“Well, you know.” I bite my lip and look into the audience again, as if I’m weighing whether I should trust them or not. I pretend to give in, tilting my head and quirking my mouth up. “I guess I can tell my new friends a little something.” They all cheer, and I hold Caesar’s gaze. “Humans and animals aren’t that different, not really. I think I’ll find my way in the arena.”

I wonder how my parents are taking my newfound view on humanity.

“Ah, if only we had more time to talk about that statement. Unfortunately, while my time with you has been lovely, it’s come to an end.” Caesar gives his winning smile, holding his hand out to me. I take it, and he holds our hands up and gestures to me. “Sable Tause, everybody!”

I give the slightest curtsy, waving as I walk off the stage. 

When I sit down and Niyu is brought forward, I continue to scan the crowd. Some are still looking at me, even while Niyu begins talking about home and how he’s good with a knife.

I suppose he’s trying to play confident too, though his chariot performance was the complete opposite. I zone out as he keeps talking because Lihn is right. Niyu doesn’t know how to play the games. He’s about as interesting as stale bread up there, and I have a feeling very few would try to sponsor him at this point.

The boy from 12 goes soon enough, and then we’re done. 

Good. I’m not sure how much more of this performance I can take.

When we get back and I emerge from my room free of makeup and in the comfiest clothing I could find, Lihn and I sit on the couch. 

“Tomorrow is a big day.” She watches me as I curl my knees in, hugging them to my chest. “How do you feel?”

“Scared. Terrified.” I laugh. “I don’t know. I think Glinter genuinely wants to be my ally, and Flayre will do what he wants, but the others don’t like me. I guess that’s fine. But I won’t be sleeping well around them.”

“You shouldn’t sleep well either way.”

We talk a bit more about fluff, about interviews and what people at home might be doing now.

“I’m sure your family has gone to bed. No point in tiring themselves out before the games even begin.”

“I hope my father hasn’t strained himself.”

“People are taking care of your family now. You know how District Ten is.”

It’s true. When the Reaping comes around most families set aside a few items to give to the tribute’s parents. That way the families have one less thing to worry about. I know that many will be helping with the horses in any way they can, but father isn’t one to sit back and let others do all the work. 

“Did they like me?”

“They loved you. You played the crowd right. Unfortunately, that makes you much more of a threat to your fellow tributes. You’ve certainly got a target on you, so sleep with one eye open.”

I nod, clasping my hands and squeezing them until they turn bone white. My teeth are clenched so hard I feel they may never come apart again.

“Here’s some tips from my Games.”

I turn towards her. I was so young when she won that I don’t remember many details, only her final kill. Any tips to help me survive in the arena are welcome.

“Work at night. You’re used to ranging in the dark, just like I was. Use that to your advantage because no other Districts let their citizens out past curfew. Obviously you’ll be with your allies in the beginning, but as soon as you slip away you should sleep during the day and hunt during the night.” 

I nod. 

“Find water as soon as you can. Fresh, clean, drinkable water.. Grab iodine if you can get it, put a tablet in and let it sit for half an hour. Water is your very first priority after the bloodbath. Find hiding spots and escape routes wherever you are. Never turn your back on another tribute.” She’s thinking. I wonder what it’s like to have to help kids you know are doomed from the beginning. “Sleep with your weapon in your hand. Use the terrain to your advantage. If you don’t know something, don’t interact with it. Assume everything is a threat. Never attack first unless you’re sure you’ll win. And always keep more weapons on you than you think you need.”

I’m hanging on to every little piece she gives me. She can tell I have the motivation, I can only hope I have the skill.

But once I get my hands on a whip, I’ll be a good contender. Especially with the Career pack by my side.

“Get some sleep. Now is really not the time to pull an all nighter.”

She gives me a pointed look, and I know she’s aware of my staying up after my nightmares wake me. I go to my room, forcing myself to climb under the covers and close my eyes. But I can’t sleep. I think about the arena again, though this topic has been hashed and rehashed in my brain. A desert climate would obviously be ideal — no other tribute would be able to handle that well. Certainly not cold, though the Gamemakers have stayed away from that since Siles won by hiding himself in animal carcasses to keep warm. They say that was the most boring Games, most tributes huddled in on themselves to keep warm instead of attacking one another.

I hope for lots of plants too. Plants mean food. 

I wonder if I earned any sponsors. A 10 in training is no laughing matter no matter the tribute, surely that impressed someone. I wonder if my interview was memorable. 

I wonder what my family is doing. They were the last to visit me after the Reaping.

_ My dad enters first, holding the door for mother like he always does. She is still wailing. I could hear her coming down the hall.  _

_ They both hug me at once, and I relax in their embraces. I can’t afford to cry, but I wipe my mother's tears away with my thumbs, kissing her on the forehead and kissing my dad on the cheek. _

_ “I’m going to win this thing.” I still hold the determination I kept from Brey. I can’t fall apart, otherwise they would fall apart. “So don’t fall into your pit of despair.” _

_ “You sound like your brother.” My mother starts sobbing again, and I sigh. _

_ “Yes, well, I’m not.” I force her to look at me. “I’m coming back home whether you believe it or not.” _

_ “We believe in you.” My father stares at me, and I smile softly at him. “You’ve always been tough and smart. You’re stronger than half those Careers ever will be and they’ve been training all their lives.” _

_ I hold his hand, pleading with my eyes. “Don’t push yourself just because I’m gone. You’re no use with an injury.” _

_ “I’ll be careful, Sable, but don’t worry about us.” He presses a gentle kiss to my temple, a few tears rolling down his cheek. “You’ve got enough going on.” _

_ The Peacekeepers pull them away, but my mother fights them. She struggles against them the whole way out the door, and I watch silently, as it closes on her whimpers. _

I lay awake, almost hearing my mother’s cries. It’s been three hours since I laid down, and I still can’t seem to relax. I get up and take a long, long shower. I think I wash my hair at least three times, savoring the smell of the soap. But too soon my skin wrinkles and I force myself to dry off. 

I lay on my bed once more, staring out at the desert through my window. I can’t sleep. 

When I step outside my door, an Avox is bringing out a steaming cup of tea and some crackers. I follow him out to the common room.

Niyu is sitting on the couch, white as a sheet. I sit next to him, and the Avox looks at me expectantly, but I wouldn’t be able to stomach anything right now.. I thank him and let him go. 

“I do this every night.” Niyu’s voice is robotic, and he doesn’t look at me when he speaks.

I say nothing, though, and let him continue. “I can’t sleep. It’s too comfortable. I miss my bed at home, even though it feels like stone. I miss the food at home. I feel like a prize pig when we eat dinner. I hate the Capitol and everyone here. I hate the Careers. I hated you for joining them, but I guess you’re just more determined to stay alive and I can’t blame you for that. But if you knew-”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

“Knew what?” I try to coax it out of him, but he presses his lips together. “Niyu, what is it?”

“Nothing.” He sighs. “I just don’t think I have a chance out there.. There’s a reason the only victors from Ten are rangers.”

There’s nothing to say to that. Sure, the slaughterhouse and meat packing workers are skilled with a knife, but their animals are already sedated or dead. There’s no need to have any tactic.

I want to tell him that he’s going to give it to his father himself. I want to be comforting and kind and reassuring, but I can’t find it in myself to lie to him. I feel in my bones that I  _ will  _ win no matter the cost, and we’d be deluding ourselves if I acted any differently. So, instead, I stay silent.

I don’t think I really weighed what it means to win the Games before now. That it would mean returning with Niyu’s body in a casket and the lives of other daughters and son’s on my hands. That somewhere, someone’s little sister or brother would be imagining painful ways to kill me. I can hear Finnick laughing at me now.  _ High and mighty, indeed. _

I knew I’d end up killing, but it hadn’t sunk in until now. That if I really do manage to pull this thing off, it’ll be at the expense of 23 other kids just like me. 

I force myself to look at Niyu. Now I know why he’s been so tired, so resigned. He’s already given himself over to death. He’s already accepted that I’ll survive past him, and maybe even win. He’s accepted that he’s too good to kill. 

“Niyu-”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, tears running down his face. “Don’t say anything. I chose this. I don’t think I could bring myself to live even if I survived the games, as some freak show for the Capitol to use and throw away. I couldn’t do what  _ they _ do.”

_ They _ are Lihn and Siles and Finnick and all the other victors who held onto their lives with tooth and nail in the arena.  _ They _ are the Capitol’s darlings, the representatives of their Districts, the pinnacle of what Panem has to offer. 

I will be one of  _ them _ . But before I’m one of them, I will be Niyu’s friend one last time. 

I nod, pulling his head into my lap and stroking my fingers through his hair. I hum a tune, some lullaby from District 10 that we sing to our cattle sometimes to get them to come in. 

He cries for a bit more, but eventually drifts off to sleep. He looks younger now, like he’s 12, and more peaceful than he’s ever been. 

I used to do this when his brother ran away. A year or so before Clyde was reaped, Dalton had been whipped in the District Centre for talking bad about the Capitol’s residence within earshot of the slaughterhouse supervisor. 1 lash for every word spoken brought him to 56, and it took him months to recover fully.

But as soon as he could move again, he disappeared.

Word is that Dalton was killed by the Capitol for insubordination, but Niyu saw him the night before. Said he looked determined, not scared, and that he was lighter than he’d ever been.

Niyu was pretty broken after that. Dalton was his only functional family member, his mother being dead and his father an alcoholic, but he pieced himself back together after a few nights of crying.

He was there for me after Clyde was killed, him and Brey. He used to tell me horrible, horrible jokes when I was sad and needed a pick-me-up.

He was pretty rambunctious, as mischievous as I am sometimes, the perfect partner in crime. We used to sit in the back of our classrooms and goof off, pulling people’s hair and kicking each other under the table. 

I smile at how childish we were. I suppose we all need someone we can joke around with no matter how dark things get.

Well, until we’re forced to kill one another. I don’t think humour lasts long in the arena.

The Avox comes back, handing me a steaming mug. I thank him quietly and he gives a small smile. I wonder if he has ever been shown kindness. I wonder how it felt to have his tongue ripped from him. I wonder how it feels to never speak again.

Somewhere in my thoughts about Avoxes and their tongues I find time for sleep, and the next thing I know, I’m being shaken awake by Siles.

“It’s time.”

I nod and rub the grit from my eyes. 

_ It’s time _ .

  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOHOOO!! Time for the 68th Hunger Games!!
> 
> Did ya like it?? 
> 
> Next chapter might take a while. I’m basically rewriting the whole thing, but I have major writers block…
> 
> Stay safe! Stay hydrated! See ya soon :)


	10. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the longest, most unneeded hiatus of a fic in history. I'm back though!  
> LET THE 68TH HUNGER GAMES BEGIN!

I’m dressed in light tan, sturdy pants, and a light green tank top. A light jacket the same colour as my pants. Tall, tight, leather boots with hard rubber soles. A leather belt with a small pouch attached, and a lot of loops for weapons and other things.

“My best guess is heat.” Tigris taps the bottom of the soles before handing them to me. “These won’t melt on hot surfaces, it’s the same rubber used on cooking supplies. Your jacket is designed to reflect heat off your body and keep you cool. You’re dressed in desert colours.”

This could go better than I planned. Niyu may have a fighting chance too: not every tribute knows how to get water out of a cactus as well as we do.

My hair is in a braided bun on top of my head and I give it another pat, but Tigris is good. It’s about as sturdy as concrete. My hair will not be budging for at least the rest of the day.

“Good luck, Miss Tause.” Tigris hands me my token, and I tuck it under my shirt. I had to give Niyu’s token back, but he made it seem like he’d be giving it to me again in the arena. 

I step into the glass tube, trying to control my breathing. Panic is beginning to set in, the same panic I felt when my horse was running away in the desert and I had no choice but to walk back. Tigris stares at me, motioning for me to lift my chin, so I do. 

The platform below me begins to rise, and the roof above me opens. It’s cloudy, but not raining, and I don’t have to squint to see like so many tributes have to do in past Games. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the sixty-eighth Hunger Games!” Cladius Templesmith booms over our heads and I flinch but regain my composure enough to see it.

The Cornucopia is about fifty yards away from me, golden and dull. I see weapons piled past the mouth and several big packs right outside of it. Between the Cornucopia and I are other, less valuable things, lying on hard-packed dirt. 

30 seconds left. 

I look around, and it’s dry dirt as far as I can see. Behind me, the arena is half wooded, separated by a rushing river. 

I look for Glinter, who is three tributes to my left. He motions for me to run to the Cornucopia. He thinks it's my best chance of survival.

I’m not so sure. 

I shake my head, jerking it backwards. He motions to the river, shaking his head.

10 seconds.

Glinter can argue all he likes, I know I can swim through it. Other Tributes can’t, though, and so that’s why I’d be safest.

The gong sounds and I hightail it to the river. I don’t hear anyone following me, the wind picking up. It’s hot. 

I wade as far as I can before diving in, taking care to stay towards the top. This is how I learned to swim, in a rushing river, although the water is much colder here. 

I only end up getting pushed a few yards downstream once I pull myself onto the bank, sopping wet and panting heavily. I get up, noticing another male tribute almost near me, so I turn and sprint as quickly as I can into the woods. The sand from the river bank fades into tree roots and plants, and the wind quiets down. 

I think I’ll be able to make it to a hiding spot when I’m hit from behind, tackled to the ground. I try to roll away but someone heavy is on my back, making it hard to breathe. Of course, it’s even harder when my necklace is pulled taut against my neck, effectively strangling me.

I try as hard as I can to buck my attacker off. This is not how I planned to die, not in the first few minutes of the Games. It’s no use though, they’re so much bigger than I am and the cord is strong, there’s no way out of this.

I’m starting to see stars, my vision blackening, my attempts to get away much more subdued. I’ve almost given in.

The pressure on my neck goes away with a loud, wet thud, and I feel a spray of something warm in my hair, on my neck. I cough like I’m dying, heaving and my eyes are watering, but I force myself to roll over. 

Niyu is standing over me, a large butcher's knife in his hands, his hair glistening with water droplets. I cough at him, waiting for the knife to come down, but all he does is throw his token at me and sprints away.

I get onto my knees, still coughing, and pick it up, shoving it in the pouch on my belt and clasping it shut. 

I look at the dead boy who tried to kill me. The boy from 6. Truly a boy when I look at his pale face. He was 14 if I remember correctly, his interview mainly about the girl he had a crush on at home and how he would ask her out if he made it back.

I wonder how the girl is doing now. I wonder if she hates me. If she wishes I was dead.

There are still screams coming from across the river, so I wander slowly around and try to find a good hiding place near the edge of the forest. I finally find a tree with a semi-low branch, so I heave myself up and go still, silent. I should be able to hear if someone sneaks up on me in the woods, so I turn out to the Cornucopia. Through the leaves, I can see several figures fighting, but I make out the hulking figure of Glinter and the lithe form of Irene stabbing someone. They’ll get the area under control soon, and I can go join them again.

Unless I ditch them. But woods is not my forte, and to get to the desert half I would have to risk crossing paths with them. 

Better to ditch them in the place I know like the back of my hand. 

I sit there rubbing my neck for a few more minutes, blood trickling down my shirt when the cannon begins going off. Five tributes down. 

It’s a measly bloodbath, which makes the rest of the Games much more dangerous. I must be on guard. 

Four figures are standing by the Cornucopia still, and a fifth is coming up in the distance. I clamber back down the tree, coughing once more for good measure, before emerging from the forest. I swim back across the river, before walking quickly to the Cornucopia.

“You already look like shit.” Irene raises her brow at me, and I wave her off. 

Flayre seems to be more concerned, looking up from the golden bow in her hands. “Someone already tried to kill you?”

“With my token.” I gesture to my neck, though I’m sure there’s already a bruise forming with a line of raw skin. 

“But you’re alive and that’s all that matters.” Glinter goes into the Cornucopia, and   
I follow him.

I don’t think a single one of us is thinking of betrayal yet. There are still too many enemies.

I search and search, but there’s no whip.

“Looking for something?” Irene has come in with us, and I see she has three different swords strapped to her body, a viciously sharp hooked one in her hand. “What did you use to get a ten anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I frown, looking over the weapons once more. “It’s not here.”

I grab a few things that I can do alright with, a butcher blade like the one Niyu had, and a few throwing knives. I’ll have to disappear quickly to start making my whip if I want to last long.

I begin to comb through the other supplies. A few tents, bags of different foods, a couple of canteens of water, a bottle of iodine. 

There’s something that catches my eye when nobody else is looking. A small pouch of different coloured bottles, some as big as an orange and others as small as a cherry seed. I find a small pack and put iodine, some dried meat, another knife, and the bag of vials in. On second thought I grab a first aid kit and some more food.

Everyone else loads up on items: weapons, some food, more weapons, tents. I see Jax put a heat-resistant sleeping bag in his large pack, and I try not to scoff at how sheltered they are.

Jax finds sunscreen and they all pass around the bottle, but Marina and I refuse politely. I’m used to the desert, and she has been under the sun her whole life. Plus, it’s still cloudy out so I don’t really see the point in the protection, though the Careers aren’t built for outdoor survival. More like killing.

“Who should we go after first?” Jax has a vicious look in his eye that I don’t like. “Sable, didn’t your friend go into the woods?”

“He did.” My words are careful, cold. The tension between everyone ratchets up, but Marina scowls at Jax.

“My partner went into the Desert.” Clearly, she doesn’t like him singling me out, because when I shoot her a relieved look she gives a small smile. “I think he’s the bigger threat. He’s deadly, and he’s a bit … unstable.”

“Yeah, but we know where your loyalties lie.” He waves a hand, stepping closer to me. “There’s never been an alliance between District Two and Ten.”

“Well, looks like we’re breaking records.” Flayre rolls her eyes, shouldering the two sheaths of arrows. “Can we just go now?”

He relents, following Irene out of the Cornucopia. She turns to scowl at me, probably thinking it’s my fault her partner is such a moron, before turning away.

District 2 does not like me. That’s fine, I can’t say I’m a fan either. 

“What was that about?” Flayre looks out at the two, and I shrug. 

“Beats me.”

“We shouldn’t trust Two.” Glinter crosses his arms, and I nod. 

“Clearly,” Marina mutters under her breath. We walk over to the pair. Irene has sheathed her swords, but Jax’s spiked mace is ready to swing. “I meant what I said. March is … he’s always been cruel to sea creatures. I’m sure he thinks of humans as one and the same.”

“We go into the woods.” Jax’s voice isn’t leaving room for debate, and nobody puts up much fight, though I look longingly towards the familiar expanse of cracked dirt and Marina seems unhappy.

The sun is behind us, going down quicker than I thought was possible.

It’s nightfall by the time we set up a camp. We haven’t run into any stragglers, though it wouldn’t be hard to hear us coming. Jax and Irene aren’t exactly quiet talkers, and their footsteps are loud in the quiet forest. I’m not exactly silent either, but years of trying not to startle scared sheep on cliff sides have left my feet careful and light. 

They don’t fear any attacks. Sure, we were loud enough that anyone could track us with ease, but I blamed that on their basic inability to lighten their tread. It’s when Glinter begins to make a fire and nobody moves to stop him that I realize they truly have no fear of being killed. 

The anthem begins to play, and I see the five faces in the sky. Both tributes from 3, the boy from 6 who tried to kill me, the boy from 9, the girl from 12. 

When the sky goes dark, everything is quiet but the sounds of eating. I don’t break into my dried meat yet, I ate a nice enough breakfast, and I’ve certainly had enough practice at being hungry. 

I let someone else take the first watch, trying to show my trust. The others fall asleep, Marina and Flayre staying awake, but I’m restless. 

I try to stay still, but I can feel Marina’s eyes on me as I roll over again.

Flayre has nodded off, making little whimpering noises in her sleep. I sit up, and Marina invites me to sit with her. 

“Not used to the woods either?”

“No.” I frown at the dying fire, at how cool the air has gotten. Even in the drastic changes between night and day in District Ten, they’re never like this. I can almost see my breath. “I don’t like it.”

“Me either.” 

Right. 4. Water and sand. 

“You should sleep if you can. I can watch.” She begins to protest, but yawns, and I give her a pointed look. “Sleep Marina. You’re better to us if you can function in the morning.”

She stills minutes later, and I make sure everyone is asleep before opening the pouch with the vials. I figured they were poison, and the little skulls on the bottle labels prove that theory to be correct. The largest is red, and the smallest is clear. I’m sure their size corresponds to how deadly they are, but I wish they were labelled with what plant they came from. It would be nice to know how fast they acted.

I zip it back up carefully, though the poisons seem to be contained in a strong material, and put it back in my pack. On second thought, I pull out the smallest vial and put it in my belt pouch. Now if I get separated from my pack I’ll have a tiny awl to get water, Niyu’s figurine, and a bottle of the deadliest poison available in the Capitol.

The night is quiet. It reminds me of a night I would spend ranging, except the foliage is dense enough to hide most of the stars from me. I can’t start on the whip now, it makes too much noise. 

I resign myself to listening for animals rustling around. Before long, I’m hearing little critters everywhere. 

I could switch off and get some rest, but I know sleep won’t come to me tonight. 

Morning comes slowly, but the sky does begin to lighten and I stand. I suppose we’ll be hunting today. Glinter is the first to wake up, coming to stand by me quietly as I look in the direction of the desert. The others wake up shortly after, and we all wander around the woods. Then we see something interesting. A still-smoldering fire. Evidence of another soul in the vicinity.

Jax turns to me. “Better make yourself useful, cow girl.”

Of course. I can do this. It’s just like tracking a herd of goats to go to the slaughterhouse.

I follow the trail the person made. They’re smart, avoiding soft spots and leaving plants untrampled, but it’s not hard to find broken sticks and crushed leaves. 

I’m so caught up in searching for signs of disturbance though, that Jax sees her before me. He’s running at the young girl from 5 before she knows what’s happening, mace raised to strike, but there’s an arrow through her throat before he can bring down the killing blow.

The cannon blows when he reaches her, but he bludgeons her head anyway. I flinch at the spurt of blood, the cracking noise. To think that last night she was so beautiful, so pure. She was so young.

“I had her, Flayre.”

Flayre glares at him, motioning to her dead body. There’s a small knife in her hand. 

“Wouldn’t have killed me.” He scoffs but seems mollified.

We all pretend not to notice as Marina reaches down and closes the girl’s eyes. A sweet gesture, but showing tenderness in the Games does not gain you sponsors. Clyde showed mercy several times, and look where he ended up.

I like her all the more for it, though. Even though I pretend to ignore it.

I notice more disturbances leading away from the area, not returning. “There’s another person out there.”

I don’t look at the body again, leading them away. Jax is right behind me, out for blood, but I try not to pay attention to how one swing from that horrible mace could split my head open like an egg.

I wonder if he likes it because of the Games a few years ago. Spiked maces were the only weapons available. If I remember, Brutus from District 2 was the Victor that year, which explains why Jax is using one. 

We reach a small hill with a cave in it. Glinter walks in, and moments later there’s frantic scuffling and yelling as a boy pleads for his life. A wet thud echoes with scream, and everything goes silent, Jax emerging shortly after. “The boy from five.”

I nod, uneasily, at the blood dripping down on the ground from Jax’s arm. There’s a tear in his jacket material. “Should we look at that?” 

“No.” He shrugs me off and walks away, though he doesn’t seem irritated. We follow him, and everyone is quiet for once. 

It’s not until we walk for about an hour or so that I realize why it seems so quiet. I never heard a cannon signaling death. 

I stare at Jax, who is totally unbothered, at the crusted blood on his weapon. Wherever he struck the boy is vital enough that he could be left, but ensured a slow and painful death. I shudder but don’t say anything. 

It’s nightfall by the time we hear the cannon. Marina looks up sharply as if there’s an imminent threat upon us, but as I make eye contact with Flayre and Glinter I realize I’m not the only one who reached the unpleasant conclusion a while ago.

Marina said March was sadistic, but she hasn’t realized her alliance includes another one. I spare a glance at Jax, who is smiling, and at Irene who seems indifferent. 

I wonder how I ended up with them. 

At this point, though, I’ve been awake for too long and I can barely keep my eyes open when the anthem begins to play. I know there were only two cannons today, and I know the faces that will show up in the sky. I do not want to see the little girl from 5 staring down at me, so I let myself drift off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya like it? Did ya? Did ya?


	11. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy! Enjoy!!

Nightmares make me toss and turn on the rocks and sticks I’ve laid down on. I wake up in cold sweat, but the balmy air warms me up soon enough. I’m greeted by moonlight, staring up at the foliage.

Something in the air has made me not want to alert others that I’m awake. I look around slowly to see that Jax and Irene have taken the watch. They sit side by side, talking in low voices, their backs to me. I don’t know how long it’s been before they stand up, grabbing their weapons swiftly.

I let out a strangled scream right before mace comes down. The cannon blows immediately and I scramble up, grabbing a rock in the process. Irene had been gunning for Flayre and turns for me but it’s too late. The rock hits her in the shoulder, and I hear a sickening crunch.

One of Flayre’s arrows pokes through Irene’s chest seconds later, Glinter aiming one of his knives at Jax.

He senses he will lose this fight, turning and running into the woods. Glinter’s knife lodges in his left arm, but he barely falters.

The night goes calm again. Crickets chirp, leaves rustle.

The Capitol must be rolling right now. Who could have foreseen this? Career packs usually only betray each other after half of the tributes have died, or the leader picks them off one by one. This turn of events must be making the betting tables richer and richer.

I go over to Marina, who has reforged my opinion of District 4. Sponsors be damned, I close her eyes, saying the words we speak over animals that die in our District.

“Now you will return to the dirt as you came from it, as sure as the sun rises in the sky.”

There’s another cannon boom, and we all look around, but there are no disturbances around us. Seems like the tributes from District 2 were not the only ones to kill tonight.

We don’t speak, but we pack up our things and continue. We don’t worry about the weapons we’re leaving behind, the hovercraft will pick them up before anyone else can get their hands on them.

I am sandwiched between Glinter and Flayre but it has happened naturally. I suppose we’ve ordered ourselves in the range of our weapons should we come upon a threat. Plus, I’m in the middle because I’m relatively useless.

Our pack has grown so small that I don’t fear another betrayal yet. There are still 12 more people out there trying to kill us.

When night comes again, we stop to rest. I eat some more dried meat, sitting with a sigh.

“Do you think they had that planned from the beginning?” Flayre seems sad. I’m surprised, actually, that she put that much faith in the two. It’s the Hunger Games, anything is possible.

“I think they were going to kill Marina and me.” I frown. “I’m not sure why you were included too.”

“You showed your worth.” She motions to the woods, and I guess she’s right. I’m good at following things. “And I killed that girl.”

“They also knew you liked Marina and Sable.” Glinter frowns. “They were going to kill all of us.”

He turns to me. “But you were awake. You’re the reason we’re alive.”

I shake my head. “I get nightmares. It’s not because I’m psychic or anything.”

“What do you get nightmares about?”

“I can’t remember them.” I shrug. It’s true. I’m blessed not to know what my brain torments me with at night, although every once in a while there are things that come back to me.

“I dream about my family.” He lays back, putting his hands behind his head. “They’re not nightmares, but … I wake up with a weird feeling. Things are always off in them. My sister looks different, or my mother is missing, or something is out of place.”

“I have nightmares.” Flayre shudders. “My cousin’s Games were unpleasant. When she died…”

So that’s why Flayre was so popular, aside from her District 1 status. She’s an old tribute’s family member, and probably a popular tribute.

“My brother died too. In the Games.” I lean my head back against the trunk.

The anthem begins playing.

Irene is shown first. She is fierce in her picture, and I’m glad that she’s gone. Marina is next, and I frown. She was kind to me at the end, and I wish I could have known her longer.

I’ll kill Jax, I think, for her. I can tell that Flayre and Glinter are angry too. We may have to flip a coin on that one.

We wander around the woods for a few more days, eating from our Cornucopia provisions and drinking water from the occasional stream trickling through the trees.

On the sixth day, we see that the girl from District 6 has died. No cannon sounded near us, so I assume someone in the desert had found her.

We celebrate our week of survival with a day of lounging around, talking about random things. I don’t really know why we haven’t run into anyone, but I suppose that the arena is on the larger side this year.

There must be more interesting things going on in other parts of the arena because the Gamemakers leave us alone until the eighth day.

Glinter is talking about the industry in District 1. Diamond cutters, goldsmiths, merchants — all the careers he could have chosen if he wasn’t Reaped.

He’s cut off by the sound of water rushing. I look around, and through the trees, I see that there’s a wall of water flooding into the woods. We all stand, and I tighten the straps on my backpack quickly. It seems the Gamemakers have tired of leaving us in relative peace.

“Climb.” Glinter and Flayre begin to scale the trees, but I’ve never been one for climbing. I’m hopeless at it, actually. There aren’t many trees to climb in 10, and the ones that exist have low, user-friendly branches like the tree I found during the bloodbath. These are deeper in the woods, and there’s no way for me to get up.

The water is rushing closer, and I look at my allies, who have already climbed higher than I would dream to. “I’ll meet up with you.”

Then I take off running.

I’m not sure where to, because the water is getting closer and closer, and I know it’s coming from the river. so I can’t get to the desert.

When the water sloshes past my knees, I give up and let it rise. I can swim well enough, but this current is more like a waterfall than a river.

I’m lifted off of my feet seconds after stopping, and I’m glad my pack is so secure because anything loose would have been lost. I’m slammed into trees, hit by branches, cut by leaves. Every once in a while something forces me under the water for far too long, and I almost think about giving up before I fight my way to the surface again.

I've been rushed far away from any semblance of familiarity, and I quickly give up my plan to meet back up with them. There will be no tracks to follow, no sense of direction.

I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline running through me or what, but several times I swear I see dark shapes moving through the water. Creatures with glowing eyes. One brushes my leg, but when I kick at it my foot hits nothing.

I blame it on the concussion I’ve probably acquired.

I don’t know how long I’ve been nearly drowning while acquiring blunt force trauma, but the water slowly calms down and I’m left floating, almost serenely, through the trees. After a few minutes, I am laying on solid ground, and then the water is gone, and I am sopping wet.

It’s so hot that I don’t care about that, though, more concerned about the aching throughout my body. I don’t think about walking quite yet, blowing the rest of the water out of my lungs and nose, regaining my breath. I wiggle my toes, relieved I can feel them, but my left arm is another story. My fingertips are cold and tingly, and my shoulder feels like … well, it feels like I was slammed repeatedly into a lot of trees. It’s worse than getting bucked off onto packed dirt.

But not worse enough to make me quit.

I grit my teeth and stand. My body aches in protest, but I don’t care.

I think the water was loud enough to drown out any cannon sounds, so if anyone was killed in the flood I wouldn’t know. I hope it took out a few, that would satisfy the people in the Capitol for at least a few hours.

I’m alone, though, and in the woods, so I unsheath a knife and start moving slowly. My joints protest and my entire back feels like a big bruise, but my head miraculously feels fine.

After the flood, the last thing I want is to drink more water, but eventually, my mouth feels cotton dry. I pull out the water bottle I stuffed in my bag, but it’s half full. I need to find the river.

I check the sun. It’s mid-afternoon, so it’s straight up in the sky. Unhelpful. I sit, waiting for it to start setting. If I’m correct, the sun was on my back on the way in, so if I head towards it I should go back out. Should. Who knows what things the Gamemakers have changed.

I can’t see more than thirty yards around me in any direction in this damned forest.

My hair is sopping wet and heavy, finally coming out of the miraculous updo that it’s been in since the beginning of the Games. I don’t know what to do with it: a braid would be grabbed, a bun would come out too easily. I grab a knife, preparing myself, and start hacking away at it.

The hair falls in a circle around me. It’s choppy and probably as unattractive as it gets, but it’s chin-length and out of my way now. I look down at the ropes of hair, deciding that it can work as braiding material for a whip. I get to work, making the smallest of fires to burn the hair together when the tinkling sound of a parachute fills my ears.

The silver parachute drops down and lands by my feet. Attached is a whip, coiled up like a snake. It’s golden, new, and the handle has a small button on the hilt. I push it and a short stiletto blade shoots out.

I uncoil it, noticing that the tip has about a two inch-length of sharp wire.

This is a killing whip.

Lihn knows I’m alone and in no shape to grapple. She’s decided I’m worth the effort to protect.

I wonder what this cost. This is the second weapon ever to be gifted in the Games, the other being Finnick Odair’s trident.

Perhaps people really are betting on me. I suppose it is the eighth day and I’m still alive, somehow.

I look up so the cameras have a clear shot of my grin. “Thank you.”

While I sit, I investigate the poisons a little more. Taking the largest one out, I run the wire part of my whip through the loose tendrils of hair to get it wet, and dip it in the powder a few times, careful not to touch it. Then, I loop the shining thing in a loose circle and clip it on my belt.

My clothing has put up with the abuse surprisingly well. My boots are treated, it seems, because there’s no water damage at all. The jacket has some tears and a bloodstain from the boy of District 6, but the pants are sturdy because there’s not a rip to be seen.

Once again, the sun begins setting quickly. I make a note of it, but remember what Lihn said.

Do your work at night.

I let myself go to sleep, which isn’t hard with the state I’m in now.

* * *

When I wake up, it’s by the anthem playing.

I turn with a groan at how sore I am, staring up at the sky.

Nobody from Districts 1-10 have died today.

So Flayre and Glinter have both survived. Good for them. I hope someone kills them first so I don’t have to.

Both tributes from 11 show up. I wonder if they were killed by the flood, but I also think about those creatures I saw. Maybe they were on the prowl, but for different prey. I shudder, because who knows what the Gamemakers have come up with.

Niyu is still out here too. He survived the flood if he’s still in the woods, or he could be in the desert. Perhaps he thinks about where I am too.

Then the crunching of boots on twigs snaps me out of my reverie. I’ve slept with the knife in my hands, but I quickly put it in its sheath on my belt. It’s useless compared to what I have now.

I unclip the whip, uncoiling it. The sun has already set and I can see well enough, so I sit up and rise slowly to my feet.

I still feel like shit.

Another twig snaps to my right. I hope the poison does its job because there’s no way I can face 2 tributes otherwise. I’m too stiff to move quickly.

The one on my left comes first. The whip winds around her throat and I yank it, the wire cutting into her neck instantly. The one on the right charges shortly after, and I barely unwind the whip in time to grab the sword out of her hands with it, yanking it to the ground. I lash quickly at her face, and she grabs the wound. It’s already blossoming with red, but I wrap it around her leg, tugging her to the ground. She doesn’t get back up.

Their bodies convulse on the ground for a long time, hours maybe, and I realize I’m sobbing. I can’t listen to it anymore and drive the blade attached to the whip handle through each throat.

Fantastic. The Capitol sponsors must be going wild.

I look down at the first girl. The tribute from 7. She’s got foam on her chin, and I sob even more. I close her eyes, whispering the words over her. I walk over to the other girl, from 9, and do the same with her.

I suppose Marina influenced me even more than I thought.

I decide this will be the last act of softness that I will show. Clyde whispered the words over the boy he killed, and he was seen as weak and soft throughout the Capitol for it. Perhaps he was remembered kindly in 10, and in the boy’s district, but nowhere else was it praised.

I will not be a weakling.

I force myself to quit the awful sobs that wrack my body, drying my tears, and letting a mask slip over my face. The poison worked quickly, but not quickly enough against an enemy like Jax or March. They would not let the pain take them out so swiftly.

I force myself to leave the bodies, grabbing my pack on the way. I head past the marker I set for myself to let me know where the river was, and start walking.

I’m probably half a mile to the river when I hear strange little hissing noises. I turn back, stopping my steady pace, and see a strange, pale creature looking back at me. It hisses again, and I see a long forked tongue flick past needle-sharp teeth.

The hiss must be a call for dinner because more join and stare at me. Well, I’m not sure if they can stare because they don’t have eyes, but their heads are pointed in my direction.

Mutts. There are at least five of them. I can’t move, staring at their claws instead. Almost as long as their teeth and curved into vicious points. They remind me of miniature versions of Irene’s sword.

All of them hiss at once, and they crouch down.

Then I run. I run faster than I did after the gong sounded, and I’m sure it’s due to the fear coursing its way through my veins. I have never felt fear like this. Those things would kill me in minutes, ripping me apart. I’m sure they would eat me afterward. I do not want to be their evening meal.

The hissing continues, and I feel something grab at my leg, but I can’t stop. I keep pumping my arms, thankful that I’d been training on the treadmill this whole week because if I didn’t I’d be dead.

I reach the river and dive in. I don’t think about how I’d been in the water just hours before, but of the desert and running as fast as I can.

Something lands on top of me, grabbing my head, pushing me down to the bottom of the river, and I scream. I twist and turn, grabbing for the knife strapped to my belt, slashing at the thing over and over, and some horrible sound reaches my ears through the water.

I surface, panting heavily. One of the mutts is floating beside me, dead, and I look for the rest. They’re at the bank of the river where I dove in, staring at me with their faceless heads. They hiss in unison again, and I hiss back, but they’re already turning and running back into the river.

I hate mutts.

Panting, I swim to the other side quickly. One side of my head is burning, and I know the stupid thing scratched me good. I’m very glad there are no mirrors in the Games, though I’m sure I look great on camera.

I try to think about anything wound-related that I know. The boy from 10 a few years back died from an infection, though the cut was relatively small and shallow. That can’t happen to me, not when I’ve made it this far. Not when I have Niyu’s token to return to his father, though I doubt he’ll even want it.

Niyu. I wonder if he has encountered these mutts, or if he’s seen something equally as hellish.

I vaguely remember my mother when I cut my arm after a fall. She stopped the bleeding first, so I press my hand to my head. I wish I didn’t, because now I can feel exactly what that thing did to me.

Three long tears starting dangerously close to my left eye and going all the way to the crown of my head.

My hand won’t do anything against the blood flowing through my fingers, so I think about what else to do.

Clearly, slamming into trees, shock, or adrenaline (or a combination) have lowered my intelligence, because I’m halfway thinking about ripping up my jacket before I remember the first aid kit.

I fish it out of my pack and thank the Gamemakers that it’s waterproof because there are basic supplies I need right now, and if they were ruined I'd be much worse off. I pour a small vial of alcohol onto a gauze pad and press it over the wounds.

It stings like a bitch, but I’m right out in the open, so I force myself to pack up and stand. I fill up the water bottle and put a tablet of iodine in it, putting it in my bag to purify while I start walking.

Blood trickles from some claw marks on my leg, and I can feel several holes in my back from the claws, but none are very deep and so I don’t even pay attention to them.

Running has taken a toll on my already battered body, and I have to go even slower than I was before. My hips feel absolutely wrecked, and my back has some tingling sensation that I do not like.

I barely make it to the Cornucopia before I have to stop. Thankfully there’s nobody inside, so I stumble in and slouch against the walls. I’ve been gritting my teeth to keep from crying the whole walk, and I know something has happened to my back in the past few days. Either the flood, running, or that thing slamming into me has done major damage. The most I can hope for is that the next few days pass quickly enough that the Capitol can heal me still.

The sun has begun to come up, and I let myself drift off into sleep again.

My last few thoughts are of Niyu, Brey, and my sister.


	12. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a ride this chapter is! I hope you like it!

Things for my back do not get better, so the next afternoon I search the Cornucopia (which has been heavily picked through) for anything resembling pain medication. The closest thing is a bottle of some orange coloured pills, but I throw them aside without much thought. I’m not about to take some random pills.

I check over my pack, replenishing whatever items I can. I munch on an apple found in a corner, putting more dried meat and apples into my pack. Another pack of gauze. Dip the end of my whip into that red poison again. Grab another bottle of iodine tablets. Clean out all of the cuts with saline and alcohol. 

The sound of a canon, though far behind me in the woods, is enough to make me start moving again though. My back feels like someone is grinding my bones down more each step I take, but I shoulder my pack and push through it.

Luckily for me, I seem to have no shortage of sponsors. I must be showing some absurd amount of pain on my face because a silver parachute tinkles down and I grab a bottle of white pain meds.

I take one, still walking, and thirty minutes later I recognize that the pain has gone down dramatically.

The bleeding in my head began again, but we take what we can get here. 

The other side of the arena turns from cracked dirt to semi-packed sand. It’s drastically hotter here, though I suppose there are no trees to protect me from the setting sun. A breeze picks up every once in a while to cool me down, but it doesn’t feel that good since it whips sand into my eyes and mouth whenever it kicks up.

But I can see around me, and there’s nobody. This is good. I’m in no shape to fight.

There’s a fair amount of bush and scruffy grass, as well as cacti sprouting up, and I feel more at home than I ever had. If I shut my thoughts down, I can pretend I’m just on a ranging trip again. 

I’ll be home for dinner, mother. 

I’ll be safe, father. 

I’ll see you later, Brey. 

But after a while, a thought like whether someone is hiding in the dry brush up ahead to kill me slips into my mind, and I’m brought back into reality. I unclip the whip from my belt, the uneasiness returning. Then I investigate whatever has made me afraid, and when nothing jumps out to grab me, I curse myself for being so paranoid and reclip the whip on my belt.

I’m stuck in this cycle for the rest of the night. 

I take a break when the anthem starts, preparing myself.

The girl from 7 is the first to show up, and I replay her death in my head. The boy from 7 also shows up, and I remember the canon that got me moving into the desert. I’m very glad I didn’t stay longer. 

The girl from 9 is the last to show up, and I feel my eyes begin to tear up, but I blink them away. No crying. Not in front of the Capitol, which is surely broadcasting my reaction. I grit my teeth and start walking again. 

I make camp when the sun comes up in a little cove of rocks, regretting the decision to not pack a tent. The desert sun is merciless, and my sweat soaks my clothes. 

* * *

The next evening I continue on my way. There’s no sure way to know if I’m going in a straight line, but I pick a star and keep walking towards it. I’m a little bit more relaxed this time, the sound of sand under my boots comforting my ears. 

I come up to a rocky formation in the ground, trying to look beyond it. There are hundreds of them sticking out of the ground, some jagged, some smooth, creating a forest of stone. Something in it unsettles me, so I turn and jog away from it. The arena this year is small, and it must be curved, because it’s not long before the rocks are out of sight. 

I keep going, slowing to a walk, and soon hunger takes over my brain. When was the last time I ate? The Cornucopia?

I sit down, opening my pack and eating a few strips of jerky and two apples. I fish out some nuts. Then eat the crackers. Next is the last apple, the last few strips of beef. Wash it down with my water. 

Feeling slightly bloated, I walk it off. Unfortunately with my stomach content, I’m forced to think about the throbbing in my back, the unnatural scrape of bone against bone every once in a while. 

Needing to sit again, I wash out my face, then decide to tend to my leg no matter how shallow the cuts are. They’ve already crusted over, but I pour alcohol on a pad and swipe it over the marks. 

It doesn’t even sting, but I’m comforted by the thought of not getting infections. 

The sun has begun to rise, another hint of how small the arena is, and I find a small area of bushes to hide out in. I start to drift off, but the feeling of a bug on my leg startles me.

I sit up carefully, only to see that a swarm of red beetles is approaching at an alarming rate. I stand quickly, brushing the few that have reached me off of my legs, numb from fear. They’re blood red, the size of my thumb, emitting a sharp clicking sound that I really dislike. I grab my pack and hightail it out of the bushes, but they follow quicker than I can walk, so I force myself to run. The clicking sound follows, and I turn back, eyes widening.

It looks like a river of blood is following me, shiny and fluid, and it’s so fast I would bet that the Gamemakers have organized this. 

I run until I hit a crack in the sand, too far to jump. The beetles are still following me, and they sound even angrier that I inconvenienced them, making a weird buzzing sound. I look around, finding a small stretch of stone crossing the fissure, but it’s a fair distance away, and the beetles have all but reached me. 

I consider just letting them take me. Picking away at my flesh little by little. I wonder if they have venom, or if the only thing the Gamemakers have given them is their disturbing pinchers. 

But my skin is crawling too much to sit still, so I sprint towards the bridge. The ground is loose and unsteady here, and a few times I almost fall, but I’m able to regain my footing.

Until I step on a rock and it tumbles in the crack, and I slide to the edge, scrambling for handholds to stop my momentum. I eventually find a rock that’s stuck in the ground, grabbing onto it. My feet are dangling in empty air, and I try not to think about what would happen if I fall. I try to pull myself up with my arms, not trusting the wall of the cliff to hold any weight, but I’m not strong enough to do it. 

“Come on, Sable.” I dangle for a minute, trying again. I can hear the clicking, almost hearing their little legs rushing towards me. “Come  _ on. _ ”

I scramble my feet up the wall, yanking with my arms, and eventually wiggle my way to solid ground. 

Beetles are staring me in the face, and I roll away, trying to get up, but they have gained too much.

They climb up my legs and I brush them off again, but they latch onto my hands.

I’m not sure what I was imagining in my head, but the reality of what the Gamemakers have designed is so much worse.

The beetles have pinchers, yes, but they can’t move. Instead, they have a mouth with human teeth, a snake-like tongue flicking out.

I scream, brushing them off over and over, running away. There are so many of them that I give up trying to shake them free, hoping that if I make it to the rock I’ll be able to escape their territory.

I can feel them nipping at my clothes, because that’s what it is. A nip. Humans don’t have carnivorous teeth, they’re flat and made mostly for grinding. These things are not designed to kill, but to weaken, and I shudder at whoever came up with the idea.

I pass by another clump of bushes, giving it a wide berth, but nothing comes out of it except a girl. The girl from Six, who comes at me with a sword and a wild cry. I wonder how long she has been in those bushes, if she saw me almost fall out of existence.

I look back, but the beetles do not chase me anymore.

They’ve found new prey.

The girl doesn’t have enough wherewithal to run, and they swarm over her feet, then up her legs, then over her chest.

She screams, and they crawl into her mouth too. I can’t stop watching, breathing heavily, as they do their slow work. She stumbles around, trying to brush them off like I did, but this time she really is too late. She’s hardly able to crawl away by the time she gets to me, crying for help. I back up slowly, toeing whatever beetles come to investigate me back her way. She is unable to talk, and I’m sure the beetles have had much more ease chewing up her insides than they did with her skin.

Finally, she stops twitching, and I wait for the beetles to come towards me again, but they continue feasting on her body. 

The cannon booms.

I sit and wait for them. I’m not sure if I want to live anymore, after what I’ve seen. Surely I will have nightmares, if I survive. I will never escape this arena. So it’s better to let these  _ things _ eat me.

But when there is nothing left on the girl but bone, they start crawling away in a single file line. They take their time, and it feels like an hour has passed when the last one leaves my sight. 

I go to inspect what’s left of her. 

Bone, picked clean. Hair, dull and brown. Clothes, bloody and torn. A small wooden bracelet still on her wrist bone. The sword, halfway between her body and her camp.

I kick the bushes gingerly, but there’s no movement, so I push through them. There’s a small sleeping bag, a large canteen of water, and a lot of food. Holy shit, there’s so much food. I put as much as I dare into my back, grabbing another knife.

She doesn’t have anything else worth my attention, so I decide to cross the bridge. At least I would be safe if the beetles decide to go on an adventure again. 

The sun has begun its descent when I reach another rocky outcropping, and I lay there to rest. I’ll have to stay awake for the anthem, it seems, but I can rest. I curl up in the sand, and I realize I am sobbing. Maybe I have been this whole time. 

I force myself to sit up, eat what I’ve gathered from her camp. It’s a stupid haul, soft slices of bread that have gone stale, oranges of all things, and two packages of nuts. Hardly enough to satisfy me tonight. 

I take a pain med, using her water to wash off. I force myself to inspect the bite marks, but I’m shaking too badly and I lay down instead. 

The anthem comes, the girl from 6 and the boy from 9 show up. 

I can barely keep my eyes open, and fall asleep with my hand curled tightly around the girl's knife.

* * *

I wake up in the middle of the day, the sun as high as ever. My food is dwindling, and I toss the orange as far as I can. It hits the sand with a thud.

I explore, instead, searching for roots and desert brush to eat. I end up finding a small field of cacti, running to the closest barrel cactus, and hack the fruit off the top with my knife, gathering as many of them as possible. I build a fire out of sagebrush, cooking them on it, eating them all. 

But there is no sating my hunger, not with the few meals I’ve eaten the past week. If I thought I was hungry yesterday, it’s much worse tonight. 

I hear the sweet tinkling of a parachute, and it thuds at my feet. It’s filled with cold meats and cheeses, filling and hardy, and I eat it all.

If I really have this many sponsors, I’ll be able to eat for free for the rest of the Games. No sense in holding off. 

I stand, and keep moving forwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it!! I really think that if I were born in the Hunger Games universe, I would be a Gamemaker. Am I proud of it? No. Am I putting it to good use? Yes!
> 
> Leave a comment if you’re feelin nice :)


	13. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! 64 kudos', I feel so blessed. Thank you all for putting up with me and sticking through Sable's story. There's SO much more to come. When I said this story would be a long one ... I wasn't lying. 
> 
> So far I have 4 acts planned. That may be split into more, or condensed, as I continue writing the chapters and see where the story goes.
> 
> I am so excited to share this.

Eventually, I can see a few trees coming up in the distance and I wonder if I have turned myself around. 

I didn’t pass the Cornucopia again, though, so I know I’ve been traveling straight. 

I approach them carefully and realize it’s an oasis. The bushes are familiar ones, with low branches and lots of leaves. A few palm trees. The lake in the center is more clear and blue than any oasis lake I’ve ever seen, and I dip my fingers in it and put it to my lips. 

Saltwater. Undrinkable. 

I drink out of my water bottle, suddenly parched.

No matter. I can tap into a cactus with no problem. I should make some rounds first, though.

Halfway down the lake, I see signs of life. Footprints in the sand, untouched because the wind doesn’t blow as harshly through the trees. I follow them to a small campsite, where a boy is laying out on the ground. I toe him with my boot, and he slashes at me weakly with a knife.

It’s the boy from 12. I consider killing him, but something stops me. Flashbacks to a boy with a trident, standing over another boy begging for mercy.

_ “Finnick, Finnick.” Thrashing around. So panicked, eyes darting all over the place. “You know me. Don’t let it end like this.” _

_ He doesn’t say anything, tossing the trident from hand to hand. The point glints sharply, golden and deadly.  _

_ “You don’t have to do this. Just leave. I saved your life once, we’ll call it even.” _

_ The metal makes a soft thud when it comes into contact with each palm. It’s an even rhythm. _

_ “Finnick, look at me. You’re better than this, taking down helpless victims.” _

_ Clyde is crying now because the end is so near he can taste the metallic bite of the trident, the coppery taste of blood, the sweet taste of the end.  _

_ “I’m … I’m sorry.” The words are barely a whisper, and the Capitol microphones couldn’t pick it up, but Clyde saw Finnick’s lips move, and his face falls.  _

_ The trident stops its beat, and the wet smack of split flesh seems to echo in the valley.  _

_ Clyde stills. Eyes, so frantic a few minutes earlier, stick to a point far off in the distance. _

I sigh. No, I can’t do that. 

“Thirsty?” I stare down at his cracked lips and glassy eyes. Not a bead of sweat on his forehead, even in this heat.

He nods. Probably can’t even speak. 

I try to imagine things from his point of view, for a minute. District 12, so he has no ability with weapons and didn’t want to chance the bloodbath. Running through a desert that he has no experience with, getting more and more dehydrated as each day passes. Someone attacks and he can defend himself, but his size overcomes, gaining the knife in the process. Finally spotting this lake and trying to drink, only to find it’s filled with salt. Laying here for days. He must have been able to find some water because nobody can survive dehydration for more than a week.

All the same, I don’t think I want to imagine how his body feels right now. Out of all the things I’ve been through, I have been surrounded by the one thing my body needs so desperately. I find a large cactus, stabbing it with my knife. A flood of clear water sprays out, and I fill up the bottle and drink out of it. Fresh. I don’t even need to worry about the iodine. 

I drink half the bottle, fill it back up again, and bring it to the boy.

I’m not sure why I’m helping him. Maybe I just have more conscience around tributes from struggling Districts.

_ But that’s not right _ , a nasty little voice whispers in the back of my mind.  _ You killed those girls earlier no problem. _

_ I will not be Finnick Odair.  _ A different voice hisses back.

_ Bullshit. You won’t hesitate to kill this boy the minute he becomes a threat, no matter how weak he is. _

I can’t argue with that, so I just hand the boy the bottle and stand a few feet away from him.

I’m generous, yes, but I’m not stupid.

Slowly, I watch him transform to life. I grab the empty bottle from him again, refiling it and bringing it back. He’s sitting up, stretching his arms, and moving his tongue around his mouth like a child.

“Why?”

His voice is a croak. Probably hasn’t been used in a while.

“It wouldn’t be fair.”

He laughs. “Nothing about this is fair. We’re a bunch of kids sent to kill each other.”

I frown. “Do you want me to kill you?”

“Well…” He shrugs. “One of us is going to have to die.”

“Not yet.” I take the bottle back from him and go to refill it, letting myself drink the rest. “Have you encountered any mutts?”

“Mutts?” He scowls. “No. I thought this arena was hell enough. What have you seen?”

I shudder, thinking about those eyeless creatures again. “I don’t know. They were … they weren’t beetles. Not really. But almost.”

I don’t want to even describe the bugs, but I do. How they swarmed, how they devoured, until all that was left was bone.

Maybe this is why I kept him alive, besides the whole morality issue. I need to talk about this. The horror of unfathomable creatures chasing you for their next meal. 

I don’t even want to remember the snake-mutts. Something about them, how human they were, how their hissing still chills my blood.

No matter how badly those beetles scared me, it was nothing compared to the needle-point teeth, the eyeless flesh pulled tight against a skull. 

“Well, no mutts here.” He looks at my head, at the left side. “Yet.”

I nod, sighing in relief. Anything is possible, but it’s been days and he hasn’t seen anything, so maybe I’m in luck. 

“You said it was the girl from Six?”

“Yeah. You know her?

“Her name was Tess.” He sighs, moving his sleeve to reveal an ugly gash from his shoulder to his neck. “She gave me this.”

That little thing, but she was brandishing a knife. “How did you treat it?”

“Packed sand in it.” I shudder. “Pretty sure it’s infected.”

“I’d say.” I’m not particularly inclined to share my first aid supplies, and he picks up on that, so we fall into silence. It’s tense. I keep waiting for him to make the first move, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits and stares at me. I stare back.

The sun has long been set, and since he’s made no move to kill me, I close my eyes. I’m not tired, not with my weird sleep schedule, but my body is exhausted, and sadness has reduced my muscles to stone.

“The arena floods, though.” When he speaks, I open my eyes, and he motions to the lake. “It rises every few days. Freshwater, for some reason. It might next morning.”

“It did that in the woods too.” I nod, “only once though. Slammed me into trees left and right. Nearly drowned.”

“Not like that here.” He laughs, and it’s nice to hear. I wish we could laugh more, but it’s the Hunger Games and nothing nice lasts long. “It’s calm water. Disgusting to drink, but I’ve survived.”

Barely.

When the anthem begins, I see the girl from 6 again, like it’s burned into my memory. She is grinning, like she’s excited to have her picture taken. Tess. Tess from District 6. I shudder at the memory of her crawling, and a million beetles crawling, and her horrible choking noises.

The girl from 8 shows up for real, and I vaguely remember her volunteering for her younger sister. Such bravery. Such foolishness.

“What’s your name?” I turn to him and realize he is still staring. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be allied with me anymore, after the reality of death has shown its ugly face.

“Leon.”

“Where did you learn to swim?”

“Uh.” 

Must be illegal, if he won’t tell me. I gain some respect for him. I gain even more when I notice his hand moving back towards his knife.

“I learned in a river. In case a horse ever bucks me into one.” I stand, grabbing the water bottle. “Let’s get some more water in you.”

I come back and he sucks it down. When I go to grab the bag back, he slashes at me with the knife and I kick him in the face.

“What a shame, Leon.” He grabs his nose, blood spurting through his fingers, and I press my boot on his knife hand to keep it from swinging at me again. “I thought we could be allies.”

Then he begins to seize, grabbing his stomach with a whine. Black liquid pours out of his nose along with the blood, and I move away, putting the black vial back into the bag. I throw the water bottle, now contaminated, down by his body.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper the words and walk off. The sound of the cannon booms.

I know, I know. I wasn’t going to do that anymore. I wasn’t going to show tenderness. But I’m still getting gifts from sponsors, and it makes me feel a little more human. 

Speaking of humans, there’s only 8 of us left. It’s day … what. Twelve? Thirteen? However long, Gamemakers will want us to start ramping things up. I try to think about what happens now. There might be more mutts or other Gamemaker traps coming to bring us closer together. Maybe a feast. Whatever the next few days hold, I will need to sleep.

Since Leon hadn’t been found out here before me, I can assume there’s nobody around. I decide to walk a bit farther down the lake before laying down and forcing myself to rest. I take another painkiller, drifting off into sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anybody have any theories on where this story is going to go? I want to engage you more, I LOVE talking to you guys in the comments. One of my favorite things about Ao3, which puts it above any other writing platform in my opinion, is the threads of comments that can just ... go on and on without tiring out. I love them.
> 
> Also, who's your favorite character from the Hunger Games? What did you like about the series? What didn't you like? What's your favorite book/movie?
> 
> Have a great week, guys!!

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Find my boards that inspire each character at https://www.pinterest.com/Whatifweweredogs/boards/  
> Leave a review and a kudos ;)  
> Bookmark to stay updated!


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